Peaches
by ansera
Summary: Hotch, Morgan, and a cat named Peaches. Hotch/Morgan.


READ THE STORY HERE: **ansera. livejournal. com/32834. html#cutid1** except without the spaces. Leave the reviews there too, as well, for me to answer to. I allow anonymous posting, but you can leave your username if you want to. (:

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Title: Peaches  
Rating: FRAO  
Length: 20, 821 words  
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Cat-Loving  
Pairings: Hotch/Morgan  
Warnings: Slash, Mentions of Past Child Abuse  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Spoilers: 1x16, 3x14  
Summary: Hotch, Morgan, and a cat named Peaches.  
A/N: Thank you to **runriggers** for the amazing, and I think multiple, betas.

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"The _cat_ is following you?"

Morgan watched as Hotch's brows rose in utter disbelief. It was exactly what Prentiss had done before patting him on the head and telling him to go get some meds. He let out a long sigh.

"Yes, Hotch, the cat is following me," he repeated, keeping his voice steady since the claim was preposterous enough without his making it sound like a lie.

"The cat," Hotch said, still not believing him.

"The cat," Morgan agreed, crossing his arms.

He didn't honestly think that anyone would believe him immediately –because it was a cat, and no matter what Reid said about cats in close proximity with humans, their lives amounting to a symbiotic social adaptation with great affection shown to their human companions, and that, ethologically, the human keeper of a cat functions as a surrogate mother, it was still a cat.

That was why when Hotch's brows lowered and his expression became more neutral, Morgan was surprised.

"Whose cat is it?" Hotch asked, and Morgan shrugged.

"No collar, no identification, it's just a stray cat." He stepped to the side, and Hotch looked down to see the small mangy creature that had been following Morgan for most of the day.

"When did it start following you?" Hotch asked, kneeling down to look at it.

Morgan thought back, "When we found Lacy Maurer's body," he said.

Hotch's brows rose again. "That was close to eight hours ago," he sounded skeptical. "And we've been to four other places since."

"The thing keeps finding me," Morgan said, frowning at the creature.

Hotch looked down, and Morgan had the inkling that he was hiding a smile.

"It is," he said again.

Hotch looked at him, "Okay."

"Really," he frowned.

The corner of Hotch's lip was turned up in amusement. "I believe you."

_Liar._

Reid stepped in, looking down at the cat with them. "Cats can hear high pitched sounds, up to 64 kHz, and they have a sense of smell fourteen times as strong as a human's, if they decide to follow a human, it would be difficult for the human to escape." He looked up at them, eyes shining with knowledge, "When a female cat is in heat, multiple males will be attracted to her, and the victor-"

"The cat that wins?" Morgan clarified.

Reid nodded, "Is allowed to mate with the cat."

"What if the cat doesn't want to mate with the victor?" Emily asked, walking up next to Reid. Apparently, if Hotch took a matter seriously, everyone else followed. "What if she likes the loser better?"

"It's interesting," Reid said, thriving on the questions, "Even if the female cat rejects the mate, she will eventually allow the male to mate with her, giving a loud yowl when he pulls out of her. After mating, the female cat will wash her vulva, and if a male tries to mate with her then, the female will attack him. Once the grooming is finished, the cycle will repeat."

Emily grinned. "You can't talk to a pimp about what her prostitutes do but you know so much about cat sex?"

Reid blushed slightly, "It's a purely scientific process involving the phys-"

"Reid," Morgan said, and Reid snapped his mouth shut. The cat let out a loud mewl and Morgan looked back at it, and it curled happily near his feet. "Now, can we please decide what to do with the cat?"

"We should find an owner," Hotch said. "Where's the nearest animal shelter?"

"0.8 miles away," Reid said absently.

Morgan turned to look at him, "You know that why?"

"I studied the maps very carefully for the case," he said, cheeks flushing slightly.

"Here, kitty, kitty," Emily bent down, hands moving forward to pick the cat up. The cat barred its teeth and growled, snapping at her fingers as it twisted its body away. She pulled back, "Not so nice kitty."

Reid shook his head, "If he likes Morgan, then he probably looks at you as someone who is trying to take it away from him-"

"I am."

"And that makes you a threat, so it retaliates," Reid concluded.

Emily shook her head. "Why would it-" she broke off, shaking her head as though telling herself not to bother. "Never mind, come on," she grabbed Reid's arm, "We're going to let these two take care of it. I don't need to be around a jealous cat," she said, throwing the phrase teasingly to Morgan.

Morgan frowned at the creature, which had calmed as the other two left, lying down on the floor comfortably in front of Morgan's feet. It liked this position, Morgan could tell, and he wasn't particularly against it either. Its coat was a strange color, a soft shade of cream with undertones of red, making it almost look peachy. Its eyes, he knew –even if they were closed now—were a bright brown, narrowing every time anyone neared.

Hotch bent down, and then put his hand out. The cat's eyes perked up, sniffing at them carefully, before it brought itself to its four feet and walked forward, tongue flicking out to lick his fingers.

Morgan grinned, "It's not jealous of you."

Hotch didn't reply, but Morgan thought he saw a small tug of his lips that could have been a smile, a genuine one.

"It likes you," Morgan continued, grinning at the cat.

Hotch let out a soft laugh and abruptly changed the topic. "Have you named it?"

"I didn't think I should get attached," Morgan said, although he had already thought of too many names –he had even swallowed his pride and asked Reid what he thought on the matter, which had achieved nothing because the man had spoken too long with too little that he had actually understood— and had eventually chosen one himself.

Hotch did smile then, and he looked up at him knowingly. "What's its name?"

"Peaches," Morgan said, biting his inner cheek uncomfortably. "You know, because its coat is peach and it fits and there isn't a name tag so it should be fine-"

Hotch interrupted his rambling. "I like it," he said softly, standing up.

Morgan grinned, "So do I."

There was a stretch of comfortable silence as Hotch's hand moved through the fur in a glide. Morgan crouched next to him, and Peaches immediately moved so that its head was within petting distance of him.

"It likes you more," Hotch said.

Morgan laughed, "So, you'll take care of it?"

Hotch started, "What?"

"I already have Clooney, so I can't have a cat too, they'll be fighting all the time –I don't care what Reid says about ambivalent behaviour— and my neighbors are already complaining about taking care of the dog. And it doesn't like anyone here but you, so, you're the only person available to take care of it," Morgan said, sounding almost matter-of-fact about the entire thing.

Hotch frowned, "I cannot take care of a cat, we-"

"Are able to keep pets outside of work, I have Clooney, don't I?" Morgan asked rhetorically. Hotch searched for another argument, and Morgan stopped him before he could bother. "We can't abandon the cat, Hotch, and it's obviously not going to let itself get taken in, so why not?"

Hotch grimaced, "But it's a cat," he said it as though a cat was the one of the unsubs they had caught.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "You've always struck me as a cat person," he joked, before grinning at the man. "I'll help you out with taking care of it, but don't worry; cats are easy to take care of."

"But, I haven't even-"

"I'll get you the food and the water and the collar –I think I have Clooney's spare bowl as well— so all you really need to do is keep it since I can't."

"Morgan, I haven't agreed to-"

"I'll visit Peaches all the time and everything," Morgan moved his hand forward and patted the cat's head, and it purred happily at the motion, "Really, you won't even have to do anything."

Hotch let out a sigh. "Well-"

"You aren't allergic to cats," Morgan thought aloud. "Jack isn't allergic, is he?"

Hotch smiled at the mere mention of his son's name, "No, he's not."

Morgan softened, "Kids like cats."

"Yeah, they do," Hotch said, convincing himself more than anyone else.

"And Jack likes cats too?" Morgan asked cautiously.

Hotch was silent, and Morgan wondered if he even knew the answer. "Yes, he does."

"Then, that's that," Morgan said, as though a decision had already been reached.

Hotch pondered on the matter for a few minutes, and Morgan waited patiently, since he already knew the answer.

"I'll keep it for the week, and if it's no problem then," he shrugged, "It can stay."

Morgan tried not to beam at the words.

From the smile on Hotch's lips, he was failing miserably.

The cat, Morgan thought as he watched it curl on Hotch's lap, snuggling happily even as it let out a loud purr of pure ecstasy, liked Hotch.

Hotch had managed to have the cat given permission to travel with them in the plane, a few choice words with the pilot while Morgan winked at the woman who looked down at Peaches like it was a fly on her radar –a feat considering the rules of air traffic these days.

Rossi had looked at them when Hotch had brought the cat onto the plane, Morgan patting down its fur, a curious expression, but Morgan didn't let himself think about it for too long. Morgan didn't wonder for too long how Hotch had managed to have it out of the carrier the stewardess had handed over–the man _had_ been a lawyer after all.

Reid had taken one look at the cat and said, "You know that stroking a cat can lower your blood pressure, and, contrary to popular belief, people are not allergic to cat fur, dander, saliva, or urine – they're allergic to sebum, a fatty substance secreted by the cat's sebaceous glands. And, I thought it was more interesting, someone who is allergic to one cat may not be allergic to another cat. Though there isn't a way of predicting which cat is more likely to cause allergic reactions, it has been proven that male cats shed much greater amounts of allergen than females. A neutered male, however, sheds much less than a non-neutered male."

It was a wonder that he had kept his sanity as long as he had.

Hotch was reading a book, something about astronomy –or was it astrology— which Peaches was reading avidly too, if its narrowed eyes and perked ears were any indication.

Hotch's hand stroked it gently, almost without realizing, and Morgan watched as he started reading the book out unconsciously, softly enough for no one in the plane to overhear, but loud enough for the cat to hear.

He looked around where Reid lay folded into himself on a couch and JJ stretched out on the sofa. Rossi and Emily were talking to each other in a corner, eyes flickering towards Hotch enough for him to know what, or whom, they were talking about.

Morgan hesitated less than a second before he moved towards Hotch and settled himself next to the man.

"Hey," he said.

Hotch looked over, "Hey." He turned back to the book.

Morgan leaned back in his seat, listening to the soft drone of his voice. The cat moved, standing up. Hotch stopped and looked down at Peaches. It walked about before nudging at the arm between the two chairs. Morgan frowned, then moved his hand and settled on, "You want me to move this," which ended up being a good guess because once raising the arm, Peaches let out a soft purr, nuzzling its head against his thigh.

Peaches settled itself between the two of them, and Hotch let out a soft sound that Morgan identified as a laugh.

"He really likes you," Morgan remarked.

"It's a he?" Hotch asked. Morgan looked over to Reid, and Hotch understood. "How much has he told you already?"

Morgan let out a groan. "Too much, I can't remember half of what the kid said."

Hotch smiled –_again_— and shook his head. "You've taken care of a pet before, though, so it should be better now, since you have an idea of what to do."

"A dog's pretty different from a cat, and Clooney," Morgan broke off. "He's Clooney, best dog in the world, man."

"Best dog in the world?" Hotch asked.

"Certified and everything," Morgan grinned.

"That must be some dog," Hotch said, and Morgan swore that he heard an almost teasing tone to his voice.

"Clooney is the only dog I know which doesn't mind his owner being away five out of seven days of the week," Morgan stated, and he saw something flash across Hotch's face, so he continued quickly. "Of course, he loves the neighbor's place so I don't think he's going to be complaining or anything."

Hotch looked down at Peaches.

"I have heard," Hotch said carefully, "That raising a pet is like raising a child."

"Difficult?"

"Children are not difficult," Hotch said automatically, "Just tedious."

"But they're still hard to take care of, right?"

Hotch shrugged. "They're good, sometimes-"

"You mean, Jack?"

Hotch nodded slowly. "He's a good kid, understanding of all of," Hotch waved his hand around, "This. He doesn't mind my being away, or hardly ever being at home. And Haley lets me have him every weekend, and she's willing to keep him if this comes up," another wave at the plane, "So, we've reached an arrangement," he said delicately.

Morgan couldn't begin to understand the situation, but he nodded all the same.

"Smart kid," he commented.

Hotch hummed in agreement.

Morgan smiled, "Jack'll definitely like Peaches."

Hotch let out a startled laugh. "I think he will."

Morgan leaned back, stroking Peaches' fur. Hotch stroked the fur, and Morgan liked to think that when their fingers brushed against each other –the lightest of movements between the two of them— Hotch felt as hyperaware of it as he was.

Morgan pressed on the button near the door of the house, juggling the items he had brought with him in one hand.

"Coming," a voice called out from inside the house, there was the sound of footsteps through what Morgan guessed was the hallway, and the sound of a lock being opened before Hotch opened the door. "Morgan," he said, sounding slightly surprised to see him.

"Not a good time?" Morgan asked.

"No, I mean, it's fine," he stared at Morgan blankly for another second before he shook his head, as though waking from a daze, and took some of the items from Morgan's hands.

"Thanks," he said, letting his arms loosen.

They might not have looked it, but they were heavy.

"Come in," Hotch said, stepping further into the house, and Morgan entered behind him.

He looked around him; the place looked slightly bare. The furniture was there, and the knick-knacks that filled most well lived in homes, but something seemed different. It took Morgan a moment to figure out exactly what –there were pictures missing from the walls. Faded patches of wallpaper that obviously used to be filled with photo frames. The other pictures featured Jack or, more rarely, a smiling Hotch.

He wondered if it was difficult to make the man smile for the microsecond it took to take a picture.

Hotch moved into the living room, where Peaches' basket lay on the table in the middle of the room, the center of attention in every way. Hotch gravitated towards the cat, and Morgan followed.

"You brought all this for Peaches?"

Morgan set down the items in front of the basket that held the dozing cat, feeling more servant than master for a second. "Yeah, I thought it would be easiest if I got them here early, you can't take care of a cat properly without all these," he said, glancing back at Hotch.

He considered sitting on the floor –definitely servant—but Hotch took a seat on the sofa, leaving the other side invitingly empty, and he chose to take advantage of the invitation.

"The bowl used to be Clooney's –everything was at some point, I think—but I got him a new one."

Hotch picked up the bowl. "Morgan, it says Peaches." He sounded faintly accusatory.

Morgan shrugged. "It's not that hard to change the name, they're just stickers."

Hotch shook his head and smiled, placing the bowl on the floor. "I thought you weren't getting attached to the cat," he said, voice light, almost teasing.

He was obviously imagining things.

"I'm not attached," he said firmly. "But it can't hurt to give it some loving," he grinned.

Hotch chuckled, "No, it can't."

Peaches moved in the basket, and then opened bleary eyes, mouth opening in a yawn. Morgan moved, kneeling on the floor to pick it up. "Hey, little one, how are you?" he cooed.

"Do you usually talk to animals?"

"At least I don't expect them to talk back."

"I'm relieved," Hotch deadpanned.

Morgan nodded, "Reid said in 1987, cats overtook dogs as the number one pet in America, over 50 million cats resided in 24 million homes in 1986. And, right now, about 37 percent of American homes have at least one cat."

"Seems like we might have another Reid around." Hotch was amused, Morgan knew it without even looking at the man.

Morgan feigned horror, "You insult me."

Hotch let out a laugh. Morgan stood up, carrying Peaches around the waist, and then gently placed him on Hotch's lap. He was careful not to let his hands brush up against Hotch's sweats, removing them as soon as Peaches settled down.

"You try handling him," he challenged, watching with a small smirk as Hotch's eyes widened minutely and his hands awkwardly picked up the pale creature. The cat yowled immediately. Hotch glared at it and Peaches –the brave creature, more so than most humans Morgan knew—only let out another yowl.

"You could always ask it to behave." The glare transferred itself onto Morgan. "Seriously, try."

Hotch looked down at Peaches, still uncertain. It gave a shriek, and he patted it. "Calm down," he ordered, using the same tone he did on the team, the in-charge Hotch voice that Morgan could recognize a mile away.

Even animals responded to it apparently, because Peaches went limp in Hotch's hands, allowing itself to be transported onto the basket on the table. Hotch looked up at him, eyes twinkling in almost childish delight.

Morgan shook his head, "You ever had a pet?" he asked curiously.

"My father didn't like animals much," Hotch shrugged. "Sean liked them a bit, though. I'd help him take care of them." He opened his mouth, as though to ask something, and then closed it again. Morgan knew what he had been about to ask, though.

"Clooney was my first pet, didn't want one as a kid."

"You liked guns and bangs better?" Hotch asked.

"Football, Hotch, football," Morgan smiled. "Let me guess, you didn't play as a kid?"

"I was a scrawny kid." He had filled out well, though. "I preferred chess and reading."

Morgan snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Hotch looked up, "Why aren't you?"

"Because I know you," Morgan said, almost as though it was a foregone conclusion.

Hotch was still looking at him, hand not stilling on Peaches. "Why do you?"

Peaches purred happily, filling up the silence that had suddenly enveloped the room.

When Morgan saw the bandage around Hotch's hand, he had to hide his grin, although the action wasn't too successful.

Hotch's eyes narrowed onto him. "Why don't you look surprised?" he asked, voice half-growl, and Morgan felt his gut clench.

"My first week with Clooney, same thing happened."

Hotch snorted. "No more 'Best Dog in the World'?"

"Oh, he is, just not for his first week with me. It took some time to get used to everything." _For him, too. _"Animals need time to adjust to new surroundings, and they can be vicious. That's why I made sure that his nails were cut in his first week at my place."

"You couldn't have warned me?" Hotch asked exasperatedly.

Morgan grinned unapologetically. "Some things, Hotch, you got to learn on your own." The elevator doors slid open and Morgan walked out, Hotch close behind him, face closing off as soon as he entered. Morgan wondered why he couldn't be normal within the offices. "Can't be too bad though, not your left hand," he said optimistically.

Hotch was about to answer –or more likely make some sarcastic remark—when JJ walked by. Her eyes widened at the sight of his wounded hand. "Hotch, what happened to your hand?"

"Peaches," Hotch answered shortly, lifting and glaring at his hand.

JJ still looked confused.

"The cat," Morgan explained.

If anything, her confusion grew. "You mean the thing that you thought was fol- I mean, the one that was following you?" Morgan let the mistake slide and nodded. JJ looked at Hotch, "Why would _you_ want a _cat_?"

"He doesn't," Morgan cut in. "He's just taking care of it for a while."

JJ still looked confused, but with a hint of happiness in her eyes that Morgan couldn't explain. Maybe he didn't want to, either. She looked between them, "So you're taking care of it," she repeated, looking happier by the second.

"Who's taking care of what?" Emily walked in and then stopped short as she caught sight of Hotch. "What happened to your hand?"

"Hotch is taking care of the cat that followed Morgan," JJ said quickly. "For Morgan," she added, grinning.

She shared a _look_ with Emily, too similar to the one his sisters shared when they thought he wasn't looking or his mother did whether or not he was looking.

"What's that look?" Morgan asked, frowning suspiciously.

At home, the looks meant nothing good. The same went with Garcia. Or maybe it was all women in general. Or just the ones he knew.

"Nothing," Emily said in a tone that meant Something but I'm not telling you.

"Hey Chocolate Buns," Garcia greeted absent-mindedly, flipping through the pages of the thick stack of papers in her hands. "JJ, I have the stuff that you asked for-" She stopped, "What happened to Ho-"

"Hotch's taking care of a cat for Morgan," Emily notified her gleefully. She added, "And it scratched him," as an afterthought.

Garcia lit up. "The one that was allegedly following him?" JJ nodded happily.

Another look.

"It wasn't alleged," Morgan said firmly before looking at Garcia with pleading eyes. "Baby girl, you want to tell me what's going on in that twisted, pretty head of yours?" Morgan asked, seeking the one person who might aid him, since he knew that the other two wouldn't. Garcia was unrelenting.

"Sorry, Angel Face," Garcia patted his arm. "Don't worry, some things you have to learn on your own." Hotch snorted at the words and Morgan threw him a half-hearted glare.

"You have any idea what's going on here?" he challenged.

"You're the one with the sisters and you're asking me?" Hotch pointed out.

Reid exited the elevator, eyes glazed. "Hey, genius," Morgan called out.

Reid nodded, moving, almost in a trance, towards the coffee. He stopped before entering the room, though, eyes taking in the bandage on Hotch and the three women standing in a row opposite him and Hotch. Morgan felt vaguely like he was at war –except he didn't have a clue what he was fighting for.

"Did the cat scratch you?" Reid asked knowingly, eyes clearing slightly.

Garcia turned on him immediately. "You knew that Hotch was taking care of the cat?"

Reid shrugged. "I know Morgan can't keep two pets and that he was attached to the cat."

"I am not attached to-"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Garcia demanded. "You too," she shot at Morgan.

"Why should I have to-"

"Come on Spence," JJ said, taking his shoulder.

Garcia was nowhere near as tactile, shooting Morgan another glare before pulling Reid by the sleeve. "Coffee at my place." Garcia fled the scene with Reid in tow; Emily and JJ close behind her, whispering furiously.

Morgan blinked dumbly. "What just happened?"

Hotch grinned suddenly, "Some things, Morgan, you have to lear-"

"Finish that and I'm not going to help you with the cat."

"It's your cat," Hotch pointed out, still grinning, and Morgan couldn't say anything in return.

"Who's taking care of Peaches?" Morgan asked as they climbed into the plane.

"Neighbors," Hotch answered, eyes flipping across the pages of the file.

Morgan pressed the topic, "Are you sure they know how to?"

"They have two cats." Hotch continued reading.

"And Peaches likes these two cats?" he asked.

Hotch finally looked up at him, frowning. "Morgan, they're cats, it doesn't matter whether they like each other."

"Of course it does," Morgan protested, sitting down in one of the seats with Hotch opposite him. "If Peaches doesn't like them he could fight them, which means that he could get hurt if they're bigger than him."

"They're tiny," Hotch said.

"It doesn't matter," Morgan said quickly, "They could still hate him. What happens if he runs away from the place and goes back to yours? And you aren't there? Then he'll be alone in the middle of a new neighborhood and he could get hit by a car, or someone could steal him, or he could be killed, or-"

"Morgan," Hotch said sharply, and Morgan fell silent. "Peaches likes the cats fine." He softened slightly as Morgan continued frowning, "James swore that he'd take good care of him, okay?"

Morgan still felt uncertain, but he let it go.

His imagination tended to be overactive, not surprising considering his job, but he only ever left Clooney with the neighbors after doing a thorough background check and staying an afternoon to check that Clooney felt comfortable in his surroundings.

Reid moved to sit next to him, Emily settling next to Hotch, JJ and Rossi on the seats on the other side.

Emily was the first to comment. "Where's the cat?"

JJ looked up, momentarily distracted from her files. "Yeah, where is Peaches?"

Reid's head fell back on the seat. Morgan looked at him, "You know what's going on?" Reid nodded. "You going to tell me?" Reid shook his head before tilting it towards the two women. "You're scared of tw0, no, three women?" Garcia might not have been there, but she was definitely part of the team. Reid nodded. Morgan shook his head, "Smart man." Reid nodded.

"He's with my neighbors," Hotch answered, before forcing their attention to the case.

Emily wasn't deterred. "Is he safe?"

Hotch glared at Morgan, as though he had made all this happen –and he had in some sense, since it was his cat—and Morgan tried to look as innocent as possible. "He's fine," he answered for Hotch, because he thought the man might snap with the questions. "The case?"

JJ nodded. "Three women found, all in their early twenties, killed by multiple knife wounds to the back."

And that was the end of it.

"What about this?" Morgan asked pulling out the small roll of yarn, a bright pink color that Morgan had flinched at seeing the first time Garcia had thrown it to him. A slight shake of the head, and the ball rolled away, the yarn unraveling and spreading across the floor.

"How about this one?" Hotch tried, taking a small rattle that was covered with glitters and sparkles such that Morgan had to smother a laugh seeing Hotch hold it.

The rattle was lying on the other side of the room in the next second.

Morgan rummaged through the bag. "How about this?" He held up a length of rope, a skipping rope.

"It'll be ripped to pieces," Hotch said warningly.

"True," Morgan said, setting it aside. "I think Reid got him a book."

Hotch smiled –Morgan wasn't going to get used to that no matter how many times he did that— "I don't think he can read just yet, he's not Reid after all."

"Rossi got him some freaky little toy, it's not normal," Morgan complained.

"I'm sure he read up on exactly what cats would like before getting the toy."

Morgan looked at him matter-of-factly. "Peaches would not like this thing." He held up the small figurine. "I think it's an Egyptian thing, you can see the mask and everything." Morgan held it up to the light, "Even the hair looks like Cleopatra. And he gave me a pamphlet with this," he added, thinking of the slip of paper that he had ignored in favor of studying the toy and wondering if he could dissect it.

"Did you throw it away?" Hotch asked knowingly.

Morgan shrugged, difficult to do in his position lying on the floor in front of the basket where Peaches lay curled, Hotch next to him, looking more relaxed than Morgan could remember ever seeing him. The man was seated, legs crossed in a position he seemed to be comfortable with, although Morgan had never seen him sit on anything but a chair.

"I might have put it somewhere between those files you gave."

Peaches meowed at the lack of attention, and Hotch dutifully turned back to the cat, although he kept the conversation with Morgan.

"Which means you're never looking at it again."

"Nothing important, anyways."

"I thought you hadn't looked at it," Hotch tickled the back of Peaches' left ear and it let out a happy mewl.

"I haven't," Morgan agreed, "But if it was important, then Rossi wouldn't have given it to me with the weird toy. It's a turn off like nothing else." He frowned as a thought hit him, "Why do you think they're giving us toys anyway?"

Hotch looked surprised at the question. "Because they're nice people?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not good enough."

Hotch looked more amused now. "They want to help us with the cat, then."

"No, there's something there." Morgan knew it. "Did you see those ladies? They kept looking at each other as though something was up, but I don't know what that something is."

Hotch's brow rose. "They're female. You're not supposed to know what their anything's are."

"Still, there's something going on," Morgan stated. "And it would be nice to know exactly what."

"It's nothing bad," Hotch said with a shrug.

"How would you know that?"

Hotch shrugged again. "If it was bad, then Dave would have said something."

"Rossi knows what's up?" Morgan asked.

"Of course he does," Hotch said immediately. "So does Reid. Only those who are involved in the something wouldn't know what the something is, everyone else would be duly aware of the something so as to help them with the something."

Morgan's eyes widened. "How do you know all this?"

"A lot of times, I'm not directly involved in the somethings, so I'm told all about it, of course." Hotch smirked, "Do you realize that being best friends with Penelope means that you're often the subject of somethings?"

Morgan laughed. "Yeah, feel like telling me some of these somethings?"

Hotch shook his head. "I am carefully afraid of the women in the BAU, I'm not going to tell you a thing without explicit permission." Morgan scowled at him.

Peaches let out a loud purr and rubbed his head against Morgan's arm. Morgan immediately softened.

"Good boy," he said cooing at him.

Hotch grinned. "If you really want to know, you could ask Reid. He'd probably be the first to break."

"Really? I would've thought that JJ would be," Morgan said.

"JJ?" Hotch thought on it. "I don't know, she is a mother."

"And mothers don't break," Morgan ended. He rolled over so that he was lying on his back. Peaches moved, walking so that he was next to him before climbing onto his body, curling together on his chest. Morgan propped himself on his elbows, looking down at the brown eyes. Peaches blinked, as if asking why he was frowning. "Nothing big," he answered, rubbing Peaches' head.

"You're talking to the cat again," Hotch commented.

"I'm still not expecting him to talk back," Morgan retorted.

"You just answered its question," Hotch said accusingly.

"See?" Morgan laughed, "You knew that it asked a question, right?"

Hotch didn't argue, hand moving to rub Peaches' back.

Peaches rolled over and Hotch rubbed his stomach, "Jack's coming over this weekend," he commented, and Morgan kept his eyes fixed on Peaches. "He hasn't seen Peaches yet, I don't know what he's going to think about him. I mean, if he gets attached and I don't keep him…" Hotch trailed off, leaving the possibilities open for Morgan's imagination.

"Do you want me to keep him for the weekend?" Morgan offered.

Hotch looked surprised at the offer. "No, I was just wondering if you were serious about keeping Peaches."

Morgan relaxed, although he didn't know when he had tensed. "We've kept him for one week, it's worked out fine I think."

The last weekend there had been a case, and Morgan didn't know how he had done it, but Hotch had managed to take care of matters with Peaches. The cats next door –Morgan had made sure to spend an hour with them before coming to Hotch's house—were fine with Peaches, not overly possessive of their territory. Their owners Morgan hadn't reached a decision on, a couple in their late fifties who were lonely more than anything. Morgan didn't like profiling people who weren't in cases, so he didn't.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Plus, you agreed to keep him because Jack would like him," Morgan reminded him.

Hotch grinned suddenly, "Haley's going to think that I'm bribing Jack, you realize?"

Morgan laughed, "Yeah well, whatever works."

Peaches let out a loud yowl, and the conversation ended in favour of soothing the creature.

Morgan knocked on the door to Hotch's apartment. Hotch hadn't exactly invited him over, but there was a long-standing invitation to see Peaches. Clooney was with his neighbors, and the dog hadn't even whined too much about it, as if he knew that Morgan wanted to see Ho- Peaches, he was here to see Peaches, and if Hotch thought the creature a handful, he could always take him away.

There was a yell, and then soft footsteps and a laugh.

Hotch opened the door, although he looked nothing like Morgan had ever seen. More, and it wasn't difficult to find the word, _happy_.

There was a shriek from somewhere inside the house and Hotch turned. "Jack," he yelled, "Stop chasing Peaches." He turned back to Morgan, rubbing the back of his head somewhat embarrassed. "Hey, Morgan, what are you doing here?"

Morgan grinned, "No reason, just thought I'd see how Peaches was."

Hotch wasn't fooled. "Jack likes him fine," he said, obviously glad that his son did. "Come on in," he moved inside the house, not looking to see if Morgan was following him. Morgan stood at the doorway for a few moments before he stepped into the house.

The place seemed different.

Brighter.

There was laughter from the living room, and Morgan moved in. He stopped at the sight. Hotch was chasing his son around the room, who was, in turn, chasing Peaches around the room. Morgan felt his feet itch to run around as well, but only grinned and stood still.

The need to run around was stopped as soon as Peaches caught sight of him, turning its body to barrel into his legs. Morgan knelt and easily picked up the cat around its waist. "Hey, boy, how are you?" he asked, lifting it into the air as one might a child. Peaches let out a cheerful meow before flailing its legs in the air to show its desire to be on the floor. Morgan knelt, placing Peaches on the floor, and the cat crawled onto his lap, licking at his fingers.

A body appeared before his, and he looked up to see a young boy with blondish brown hair and wide eyes, brown with flecks of gold, wearing a red shirt and long beige pants that pooled around his feet. "You must be Jack," Morgan said, remembering the videos of the boy that he'd seen Hotch watch.

Jack nodded. "Who're you?" he asked, voice soft, with the ever present childish curiosity.

"Derek Morgan, it's nice to meet you," he introduced himself formally.

"Deh-rehk," Jack said slowly.

"Right," Morgan said, smiling at the boy. "I work with your Dad." His eyes flickered up to Hotch as he used the term. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."

"Derek," Jack said again, before nodding in remembrance. "You're strong. You brought Daddy Peaches," he said, nodding solemnly.

"I am and I did," Derek said. "Have you been taking care of him for me?"

Jack smiled. "Mhm, I've been playing with him."

Hotch laughed, "More like we've been trying to catch him." He looked at Morgan, "You really shouldn't be away for so long, and Peaches can't stand being away from you."

_Peaches, not him._ Morgan forced his smile to stay on.

"He knows who's good company, smart cat," Morgan teased.

Jack laughed. "I like you," he said with all the somberness of a child. "Want to play with me and Peaches?"

"Peaches and I," Hotch corrected automatically.

"Never thought I'd see you be a teacher, Hotch," Morgan said.

Jack frowned slightly. "Why do you call him Hotch? My name is Hotch."

"Oh," Morgan frowned at the problem, "Aaron then." The name felt awkward on his tongue, but it flowed off naturally nonetheless. Hotch looked at him, something flashing across his face, before he turned to his son with a gentle smile.

"Jack, why don't you show Derek," he paused, looking at him as though asking for permission to use his first name, and continued only when Morgan nodded, "the new toy that you got for Peaches?" Jack brightened before running towards the table, digging through the basket, already full of toys. "We went out earlier and bought a couple of things," Hotch explained.

"So much for not getting attached," Morgan snorted.

"He's a good cat though," Hotch said, picking Peaches up from Morgan's lap with a steady hand. "Go, boy," he murmured, patting Peaches before the cat ran off after Jack, who had picked up a toy. A monkey. Which wore boots. And seemed to be moving its tail.

Morgan shook his head. "So much for not talking to the cat," he said, noticing the order.

"Whatever works," Hotch said, "He kept me up all night scratching at the door." Morgan hid his smile. Hotch saw through it.

"Let me guess, you let him sleep on your floor?" Morgan asked.

"He climbed onto my bed," Hotch said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "There's fur on it now. It's disgusting."

Morgan laughed, "You'll get used to it."

Hotch lowered his hand, "I really don't want to."

"You'll have to."

"This much for a cat?"

"It's not just any cat," Jack piped up, "Peaches is a magic cat."

"Is he?" Morgan asked, walking towards the boy. "How do you know that?"

Jack giggled. "I can't tell you that, it's a secret." Then he looked suspiciously at his father before tugging at Morgan's hand. "I'll tell you, but you've got to promise not to tell Daddy, okay?" Morgan kept a straight face as he nodded, trying not to laugh at the sobriety on Jack's young face. He pulled Morgan closer, before whispering loudly, "Earlier, Daddy let us play on his bed." Morgan kept silent, wondering if there was something significant about the fact. Jack let out an impatient sigh, "Don't you get it? Daddy never lets us on his bed. Peaches did magic, that's why we got to play."

Understanding dawned, with amusement that he stifled for the sake of the boy.

"That must be some magic," he said, keeping his voice low.

Hotch looked patiently bored with their conversation, sitting on the couch. Jack nodded furiously, "Yeah, it is, don't tell Daddy, 'kay? If he finds out that Peaches did magic on him, he'll take him away."

"I'll make sure that he never finds out," Morgan promised.

Jack grinned. "Want to go play on his bed with us? Daddy won't mind."

Morgan felt a warmth curl in his body at the words before he said –keeping his voice work-friendly— "I would like that very much." Jack only took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs, Peaches leaping up the stairs before them, already knowing the layout, anticipating where they were about to go.

"What're you guys doing?" Hotch called out from behind them.

"Playing on your bed," Jack yelled, and Morgan looked back to see Hotch's cheeks tinge red, understanding the innuendo as he had. He smirked and Hotch's cheeks turned a darker shade of red. Morgan turned and followed Jack, smirk still in place. "This is Daddy's room," Jack announced.

Morgan looked around, taking in the room –he suspected that he'd never enter this place again unless Jack pulled him in. It was simply furnished, a large bed at the side of the room, with a door that he guessed led to the bathroom, a small table with a book –the same one he had been reading on the plane a week ago, and didn't that speak of how much free time they had to do things like reading?—a dark closet next to it, which he knew would be filled with the suits Hotch wore dutifully every day.

"Nice place," he murmured, more to himself than anyone, since Jack was already climbing onto the bed, where Peaches lay nestled on the pillow in a decidedly familiar position.

"Thanks." He almost jumped at Hotch's voice behind him.

Jack looked at them impatiently. "Hurry up," he said, patting at the bed. Morgan looked uncertainly at Hotch and waited for the man to give a nod before he followed Jack, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jack frowned, and then patted closer to him.

Morgan looked at Hotch again, and the man shrugged, climbing onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. Morgan sat next to Jack on the bed, a hand on Peaches as if it was the card that allowed him access to the club that was the Hotch's bed.

"Peaches wants to play," Jack stated. He pulled out the monkey toy from his pocket, and the cat immediately jumped on it.

"Is the monkey talking?" Morgan frowned in slight wonder.

Hotch smiled. "It's Boots, he's supposed to talk."

"Boots," Morgan repeated dully.

Jack looked at him, "You know? He's Dora's best friend," he said, and Morgan felt guilty at not knowing the fact.

"Of course, Boots," he said, smiling to hide his utter lack of knowledge on who or what Dora and Boots were.

Jack wasn't fooled –a lot like his father in that sense. He could sense when Morgan was lying. "You don't know Boots?" his eyes widened. "Or Dora?" Morgan wondered if it was a sin of sorts in child speak. "Come on, you have to watch it." Jack promptly jumped off the bed, Peaches cradled in his arms, and there was the sound of rushing footsteps as the boy ran back down the stairs.

Morgan looked at Hotch slightly awkwardly. "Is he always this," he waved a hand loosely to the door that the whirlwind that was Jack had flown out of, "You know."

Hotch nodded, "All the time."

"Man," he breathed.

Hotch smiled, "You'll get used to it. I give you," he looked at his watch, "Two hours."

"Before I break?"

"Into pieces."

A loud yowl erupted from below them accompanied by a childish laugh. "Derek, hurry, I've got Dora," Jack screamed.

"Dora awaits," Hotch smirked.

Only the fact that Hotch was his boss kept him from hitting the man.

On their next case, Morgan identified Dora as one of the dolls in the girl's room and Reid stared at him.

He only smiled back.

"Peaches misses you."

It was the only reason Hotch had given him, and he had accepted it easily, using it as an excuse to visit Hotch. Again. He guessed that he was becoming a familiar sight at Hotch's house –this would make the fourth time in two weeks. He didn't think he had visited Hotch four times in the past four months before that.

Morgan entered the house quietly, using the key that Hotch had pressed into his hand before walking towards his neighbor's house to collect Peaches.

Morgan stood near the door uncomfortably before moving to the living room.

Neutral territory.

He sat down, throwing the keys onto the table. He moved his hand around the couch, searching for the remote control. His eyes caught them neatly at the side of the couch in a pocket. Figures –Hotch wasn't the sort to have his remote under the seat like most people. He flipped through the channels lazily. After seeing four men murdered in their sleep, everything seemed muted, duller.

A soft mew alerted him to Peaches' presence, which meant that Hotch was there as well.

"Nothing to watch?" Hotch asked, settling next to him.

Peaches crawled out of Hotch's lap onto Morgan's, licking at his face as Morgan picked him up. "Nope," he said as Hotch picked up the remote, settling on some history thing with men who had their skin torn. "Must we?" he asked wearily. He had seen too much blood for one day. He didn't need it as part of his entertainment as well.

"Nope," Hotch said, moving on. One of those home-fixing shows that his Mama was too fond of. "This looks good," Hotch commented.

Morgan laughed at the sight of Aaron Hotchner watching a show with a man in a tight green shirt painting the walls of a bedroom in a light pink. "I think your room could use that color," he grinned.

"It needs some color," Hotch agreed.

"Then paint it," Morgan said wryly.

Hotch seemed surprised. "I should, right?"

"Yeah, you should."

"Why don't I?" Hotch seemed to be asking himself more than anyone.

"Why don't you?" Morgan didn't know why Hotch didn't, but he could only hope that Hotch got to his senses.

Hotch nodded to himself, the question entering his consciousness, making him mutter it to himself as though in a daze. Morgan wondered if he was right to be worried –the divorce had been over a long time ago, but he had never seen Hotch deal with it. He wasn't a Reid, but he figured that that couldn't be a good thing.

"What color?" Hotch asked after a moment.

"What?" Morgan blinked.

"For the room," Hotch said, with a tinge of impatience in his tone.

Morgan blinked again. "Not pink?"

"That's narrowing down my options," Hotch said sarcastically.

"Not black either," Morgan continued, ignoring the remark. "Or gray, doesn't make for a good color."

"But I like gray," Hotch said, almost petulantly.

"It looks good when you wear it on a suit or something, Aaron, not a room," Morgan said, shaking his head. He froze for a millisecond, but Hotch didn't seem to mind his calling him by his first name even though Jack wasn't there.

Hotch huffed out a breath, "Green?"

Morgan made a face.

"What's wrong with green?" Hotch demanded.

"You and green don't," Morgan searched for the word and grinned on finding it, "Fit."

"Right," Hotch said, and –Morgan wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't been there—rolled his eyes. "How about red? Or blue? Or brown? Or orange?"

"Orange is a messed up color," Morgan stated. "Des wore it for her prom, and she looked hideous, although she didn't belief me when I told her, so I had to get Sarah to tell her, and she believed her, of course," Morgan said, annoyed even now. "And brown's too… brown. Red's too bright for you, Aaron, you might die from the color scheme alone. Blue is okay though," he thought aloud, "Blue is good. I like blue."

"So do I," Hotch said agreeably.

"That's good, since it's your room."

Morgan thought it was a wonder that they could have such an inane conversation with straight faces.

Peaches nuzzled his head into his chest and he rubbed the back of his ears with a finger. Peaches let out an annoyed sound, and Morgan rubbed his head with a firmer hand. "Calm down, Peachy, quiet now," he chided. Peaches let out a mew in apology and settled down lazily on his lap. "Good boy," Morgan praised, and Peaches mewled happily.

"It doesn't understand you, you know," Hotch said.

Morgan ignored him. "Do you like blue?" he asked. "What color do you like?" Peaches stood up and jumped off his lap, twisting its body as it walked across the room, finally nudging its nose against a deep blue vase. "You like blue too?" Peaches meowed in answer and resumed its position on his lap. "You like blue, huh, buddy," Morgan said, grinning. Hotch frowned, and Morgan looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Blue and peach, is that even a good color combination?" Hotch asked.

"You're going to choose the color of your room based on the color of your cat?" he asked disbelievingly.

Hotch shrugged, "He's staying, so why not?"

Morgan opened his mouth then closed it shut. "What goes with peach?"

"I don't know, cream, orange, yellow, red, blue," Hotch listed.

"For some who doesn't know, you know a lot," Morgan teased.

"But blue's in there, so blue fits," Hotch decided.

"Blue does fit," Morgan agreed.

"And blue is good."

"Blue is excellent."

Hotch smiled, "So blue it is." He frowned suddenly, "But we don't exactly have the time to go around painting."

"Sure we do," Morgan said, "We're doing nothing now, right?"

"Yes, but," Hotch shrugged, "Painting takes time. A lot of it. We don't get a lot of that with our work."

"We'll find time," Morgan said, using an assuring tone.

"We?"

Morgan grinned, "You can't paint, Aaron."

"You've never seen me paint," Hotch pointed out.

"I'm guessing," Morgan said, "I mean, you and painting," he shrugged. "Not the most matching of words. It's like, Reid and idiot, or Garcia and tame."

"I could paint," Hotch said, although he didn't sound anywhere near convincing.

"Either way, two heads better than one and all that," Morgan said, waving a hand.

"Painting's got nothing to do with your head, Derek," Hotch smiled lightly as he said it.

"Shut up," Morgan said, not offensively.

Hotch smiled, and in his lap, Peaches continued purring, blue yarn that he had found on the seat caught between its claws.

It was nine days until Hotch pulled up near his desk, hip resting against it casually. "So, are you free this weekend?"

It was Friday, and they hadn't had a case, which left Morgan to a pile of paperwork that he had been neglecting for the past week. Reid had finished his a week ago, and Emily had left an hour ago, claiming she worked best after a few drinks and at home. He didn't know where Rossi was, and he didn't think the answer would be worth the trouble of finding out.

"I'm thinking of spending some time with Clooney," Morgan shrugged. "But nothing otherwise."

Hotch looked uncertain. "Well, you know that offer-?"

Morgan's brow rose. "What?"

"To paint," Hotch clarified.

"Your room," Morgan said, and Hotch nodded in confirmation. "You're painting it, blue I guess."

Hotch nodded again, "Yes, Jack's going to be over, so he'll be helping me with it. He's," Hotch shrugged, "taken a liking to you. He wanted to see you the last time, last weekend."

Morgan grinned, someone had wanted him. Not the Hotchner he had wanted, but hopefully the son took after the father. Or the father took after the son. He shook his head, Hotch was looking at him for an answer.

"You think Clooney'll get along with Peaches?"

Hotch smiled, "He likes Jack fine, I don't think a dog's that different."

Morgan laughed. "I'll be there."

He was there.

Morgan stood outside Hotch's door warily, Clooney next to him on a leash. He rang the doorbell, tapping his foot against the floor patiently. Laughter that he identified as Jack's, and then a rush of color sprang onto him. Morgan caught it by pure instinct, chuckling as he picked up the ball of fur.

"Hey, Peaches," he said, rubbing at it.

Peaches let out a loud purr, feet scrambling against his chest. Clooney barked next to him, paws landing heavily against his body as he struggled to sniff at the new creature.

"Down, Clooney," he ordered uselessly as Clooney continued pawing at him. He held out Peaches, allowing the cat to hang before Clooney's face. "Peaches, this is Clooney. Clooney, Peaches," he said, introducing them each to the other. They stared at each other carefully. It was better than the clawing he had expected. Then Peaches held out a paw, nudging Clooney's face, before letting out an inquisitive mew. Clooney barked twice, as if in answer to whatever question Peaches had asked.

"Are they talking?" an awe-struck voice asked. Morgan looked down to see Jack standing at the door, Hotch behind him.

He shrugged before setting Peaches on the floor next to Clooney. "Don't know, why don't we let them mingle?" he suggested, pushing both animals into the house gently.

Peaches let out a happy mew, taking the lead as he started sprinting into the house. Clooney stayed near his feet, wary of new surroundings. Peaches stopped, turning back and cocking his head, and Clooney followed. Morgan walked in after the dog, looking down as Jack tugged at his shirt.

"They're talking," Jack exclaimed.

Morgan grinned, and his head turned up at the sound of poorly stifled laughter. Hotch looked amused. "I bet they are, kid," Morgan ruffled Jack's hair, and the boy dashed towards the sounds of two animals playing. Loudly. Morgan looked at Hotch, "Sorry if he makes a mess."

"Peaches or Clooney?" Hotch asked, with a hint of teasing to his tone. "Peaches already defiled the place, it can't actually get much worse. Just need to make sure that neither of them gets into the room when we're painting." Hotch walked through the living room, Morgan following, and into the kitchen. "Peaches has gotten used to this place," Hotch said as he walked, pushing the back door open. "And that is his playing area."

Morgan looked at where Hotch was pointing and his brows rose. He let out a long, low whistle.

It looked like someone had created the ultimate cat haven, with a cactus at one end that he guessed Peaches would scratch against and the ground littered with rolls of yarn. There was a large contraption of a few levels in the middle of the lawn, and Peaches was scrambling to climb them as he watched. Clooney barked as the cat climbed too high, forelegs leaning on the thing.

"What is that?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Something for Peaches," Hotch shrugged.

"You bought this?" He didn't hide the incredulity from his voice.

Hotch shrugged again, cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, since he's going to stay, I thought, why not."

Morgan laughed. "Getting attached?"

"A little," Hotch said cautiously. "I mean, we've had him for a while, and it's going fine for now. But, I don't want to-"

"Jinx it," Jack said, stopping in front of them. He held up his hands and Hotch obediently picked him up, carrying him easily. "Are we going to paint now?" he asked, whining slightly.

Hotch nodded. "I think it should be good now," he looked at Morgan with a question.

"Yeah," Morgan said. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now that he was here, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "So," he said, trailing off.

"Upstairs," Hotch ordered, letting Jack on his feet after pecking him on his forehead.

Jack laughed before running up, before stepping short and turning around. Jack ran towards Morgan, before grabbing his hand. "Hurry up," he frowned, pulling him to a jog. Morgan looked at Hotch, the corner of whose mouth was turning up in a small smirk, before he made a shooing motion with his hand. Jack looked at him with as well, "Come on, Dad."

Morgan barked out a laugh. "Yeah, come on _Daddy_."

Hotch turned a slight red, but he followed Jack accordingly. He muttered something under his breath and Morgan smirked. "Say something, Aaron?"

Hotch's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything in front of Jack. Morgan's smirk widened.

"Nothing I can't take care of in the office," Hotch said after a beat.

"You would use work to have your revenge? Isn't that unethical or something?"

"I'll live with the sin," Hotch said dryly.

Morgan couldn't hide his smile. He followed Jack into Hotch's room, with everything pushed to the middle and covered with large white sheets. There were tins of paint in the corner, a soft blue that Jack ran to and dipped his hands in.

"Jack," Hotch said, moving towards his son, face as stern as he ever was at the office. "You're supposed to use the brushes." He picked them up, giving Jack the largest one. He threw one at Morgan and he caught it, twisting it between his fingers.

Jack laughed, dumping the brush in the tin before messily slathering it on the wall.

Hotch had a pained expression on his face.

"That's not how you're supposed to do it," Morgan stepped in, smiling at the grateful glance Hotch threw him. "Here," he held Jack's brush, "Be-"

"Neater," Hotch said, "We shouldn't have so much paint on the floor or your shirt or your shoes or your hair-" He closed his eyes. "Your Mom is going to kill me."

"She can't kill you Dad, she wouldn't get away with it," Jack said matter-of-factly.

Morgan laughed, "And how come you know that?"

"Mom said that she would've killed Dad except the people who work for him are his friends and they would kill her," Jack said, innocently painting the walls. He looked up as Morgan laughed louder. "What?"

"Nothing," Morgan shook his head. He grinned at Hotch. "Man, what did you do?"

"No idea," Hotch said. He shook his head to clear it before dipping his brush into the tin. "Just paint, would you?"

Morgan smirked, but he started painting anyway.

When Hotch –finally- invited him over to visit his newly painted house, Morgan was careful not to seem too eager, because men like Hotch didn't go for men who were so desperate. Technically, he wasn't sure if Hotch even went for men, but, he could imagine.

Was doing a lot of it in the recent weeks.

Morgan entered the house after giving one cursory knock on the door, he had been there often enough not to feel the need to announce his presence. Not to mention that the way Clooney was leaping at the door, he was afraid the dog might break it open in his eagerness to get near its new feline friend.

The moment the door was opened Clooney darted towards the back, as familiar with the layout of the area as he was after one visit.

The ensuing meows and barks, eerily in tandem, would have alerted Hotch to his being there.

"Hey." He turned on his heel at the sound.

It wasn't Hotch, which was the first thing that entered his mind. He looked at the unfamiliar man with narrowed eyes, although he thought that he did look familiar somehow. Not familiar as much as, and when Hotch stepped out the word entered his mind, similar.

"Derek," Hotch smiled, "I thought I heard Clooney."

"Clooney?" the man's brow rose. "Any relation to George?"

Morgan grinned. "Not unless the man has a bestiality kink in the family." The man frowned and Morgan explained, "Clooney's my dog."

"Oh," the man nodded in understanding. Then he shook his head, "It's nice to meet you, I'm Sean."

"Derek Morgan," he said, shaking the man's hand firmly.

"My brother," Hotch clarified.

Morgan looked between them. There were similarities, the way they both stood –proud and strong- and a hardness to them, as though they had both suffered and pulled through. More striking were the differences though, the blond hair and sweet disposition were at odds to Hotch. Then he remembered, although he didn't blame himself for forgetting the man –he'd met him all of twice in the years he'd worked with Hotch.

Hotch's brows furrowed slightly as the moment stretched and an awkward silence filled the still air, intercepted by the sounds of the two animals making a ruckus in the backyard.

"So, you gave Aaron the cat?" Sean grinned.

Morgan grinned back, "Yeah."

Sean shook his head with disbelief. "How did you get him to keep it, man? I mean, I can honestly say that I've tried to dump things on him-"

"Dump yourself on me," Hotch corrected.

"And he never lets it happen." Sean moved forward, slinging an arm around Morgan's shoulders and Morgan felt small in comparison –Sean Hotchner was taller than his brother, which was saying something considering how tall Aaron was. "You have some mighty powers of persuasion."

Morgan laughed. "You could say that, I had to beg a bit before I got him to cave."

"Let me guess, he brought up the job, and the fact that it was a cat as though it was Stalin or something, and all you had to do was say Jack's name and he fell?"

"Something like that."

_Exactly like that, actually. _

Hotch looked at them, frowning. "It wasn't that easy-"

"It's the same thing every time," Sean said, rolling his eyes at his brother.

"You mean you've had animals before, Aaron?" Morgan's brow rose quizzically, that was news to him.

"When we were kids I used to bring home all these pigeons and stuff-"

Hotch interrupted, "And I only took care of them because he insisted that they'd die if I didn't take care of them, and half of them were hurt, like scarred with broken wings and all that."

"I know that he bought a few fish cause Jack caught them and didn't want to kill them-"

"It was one of those funfairs where you aren't supposed to kill the fish anyways," Hotch said.

Sean laughed, "Excuses." He turned back to Morgan, "He got a puppy once, this tiny yappie thing, the sort Paris Hilton stuffs in her handbag," he motioned his hands so they were a few inches apart to describe the puppy. "Ugly thing, all shaggy skin and high-pitched yap."

Hotch didn't look pleased, "It looked fine, Mrs. Cosgrow took to him immediately."

"Who?" Morgan asked.

"Mrs. Cosgrow, she lives down the street," Hotch said.

"Aaron only took the tiny thing because Jack saw it and wanted to bring it home," Sean said, shaking his head in amusement. "And then after that you have the epic disaster of the other fish-"

"What happened to them?" Morgan asked.

Sean grinned at Hotch, who sighed wearily. "They died."

Sean snorted. "They were floating upside down, it was hilarious. Don't forget the lizard-"

"That wasn't my fault," Hotch protested.

Sean waved a hand and continued, "The lizard was in this tank, right?" Morgan nodded, although he didn't know a thing. "And then it just stopped moving and eating, so Aaron thought that it was dead, and Jack was so upset, he put it in a box and buried it, then later-" Sean broke off to laugh, clutching at his stomach.

Morgan looked at Hotch, who sighed again, "Then I read up and realized that it wasn't dead-"

"It was hibernating," Sean said between gasps, "God, the look on his face-"

Hotch rolled his eyes. "We took it up from the ground but, by then, it'd actually died so." Hotch shook his head at the memory, "Not exactly one of my finest hours or anything."

Morgan laughed, "Man, I can't believe you buried a lizard."

Hotch was pouting, he was sure of it. "Jack wanted it," he said firmly.

Sean and Morgan shared a look, and then started laughing again. "Keep telling yourself that," Morgan teased.

Hotch looked like he was about to retort but Morgan was sidetracked when a ball of fur lunged at him. He picked up Peaches so as to save his shirt from being clawed to pieces and stroked it's fur. "Hey, boy," he cooed at it, "How are you? Is Aaron treating you good?" Peaches let out a small mewl in answer to his questions and proceeded to lick his fingers thoroughly.

Hotch moved forward and stroked its back, "He's been yelling for you." Sean stepped towards them and Peaches growled and snapped its teeth. Hotch laughed, "Now there is a good judge of character," he praised.

Sean glared at the creature. "Bloody thing-"

"You're going to hurt its feelings," Hotch chided.

"It's a cat," Sean said hotly.

Morgan looked at him, "A cat whose feelings you're hurting."

Sean threw up his hands, "I guess I'm overruled on this one."

Morgan grinned, "Yeah, you really are."

Over lunch, Morgan realized the most startling difference between the two brothers –Sean liked to talk. He talked about all and nothing, his hands gesturing so wildly that Morgan spent half the meal watching the pieces of food flying off the utensils and gauging their final destination. Hotch was quieter, intercepting his brother's rambles with the truth when they got too preposterous –no way did they ever get stuck in The House Of Mirrors and have a team of SWAT Agents sent in to rescue them- or laying a hand on his shoulder to calm him if he got too extreme.

Morgan could see that they were close.

They would pick up where the other left off as though they met every day, even though Morgan had only ever heard of Sean visiting Hotch once, and seemed to sense each other's moods.

It was the other thing Morgan picked up on over lunch. In the middle of "Man, you should have seen that girl in 5th Grade when she went up to Aaron and asked him to be her date, I thought she'd die of total humiliation or something, and he actually turned her down and then our-" Sean would break off with a slightly frozen expression and Hotch would change the topic smoothly.

Morgan didn't say anything, and Hotch gave him a grateful smile whenever it happened.

Morgan told himself that he kept silent because of his inbred manners, not so that he could be on the receiving end of another one of those smiles.

By the end of the lunch, with Sean glaring at the cat who had dragged itself onto Hotch's lap in the middle of his speech about Hotch's college years, he had stopped lying to himself.

Morgan settled into the couch, a hand lying comfortably on Peach's head, which lay on Clooney, who lay on the floor next to his feet. He heard Hotch talk to Sean, murmured words that he couldn't pick up on and couldn't be bothered to, and let his head fall back and his eyes close.

"Sean can be tiring," he heard Hotch say, and felt a body sink into the couch next to him.

Morgan smiled, "Nice guy."

"He's a chef, doing well." He felt more than heard Hotch's uncertainty.

He opened his eyes. "I think he is, he's wearing jeans that Garcia has tagged as something to die for except it costs a fortune."

Hotch laughed at that, shaking his head slightly –it was all too easy to imagine Garcia saying that. Morgan smiled, at least Hotch had relaxed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "He likes to spend money, we-" he faltered, "Didn't get to spend much when we were younger."

"Kind of like making up for lost time?" Morgan offered.

Hotch nodded slowly, "Something like that."

Morgan wanted to ask why they couldn't. From the number of sentences Sean had ended half-way he knew something went wrong in their childhood, from the distinct lack of any mention of a father figure, he knew who was to blame. He just didn't know what the man _did_ to Hotch.

Hoped it was nothing like what Carl Buford did to him.

"He didn't do anything that bad," Hotch said, as though reading his mind.

Morgan's brow rose, but he kept silent. It felt like someone had turned on a switch in the room, or maybe off, because he suddenly felt very warm.

"He, just," Hotch shrugged. "Took a little too much to drink sometimes, he got- out of hand," he settled on after some thought. Morgan still didn't say anything, not wanting to break the sudden something that had settled around them. "He never did anything to Sean, I mean, never touched him or hit him or anything," Hotch said, as though that made everything better.

"Because you always came between them?" Morgan guessed.

It was a rule of sorts not to profile the other members of the team, but to know that Hotch would do anything to protect those dear to him was not so much profiling as common sense.

Hotch's silence was answer enough.

"Your Mom?" he asked, because the silence was pressing down on his head and he could feel the blood rush through his ears, hear everything in the room like it was forcing a weight on him, the harsh breath of Clooney's in tune with the softer purr of Peaches, the heat stifling even though he only wore a shirt and his pants, felt Hotch's presence next to him like something tangible.

"She wasn't home much," Hotch said after a too long pause.

Morgan tried to keep his expression neutral, but he liked to think that parents protected their children when given the choice. He faced people who did the opposite in his work, but it was necessary to hold on the fact that there were good people in the world.

"It wasn't her fault," Hotch said immediately, as though sensing his unspoken judgment.

Morgan frowned then.

"Really," Hotch said, "She was a good mother."

"She didn't protect you," Morgan said, biting his lip to keep any other comments from escaping his lips.

"She tried to."

_Not good enough. _

But he didn't say it, because Hotch was looking at him with wide eyes that were slightly innocent in their need to believe in the only mother he's ever had.

"She did her best under the circumstances presented to her," the formal tone took any real meaning out of the words.

Morgan made a slight noise in his throat, as though disbelieving.

Hotch shrugged uncomfortably in his seat, the button down shirt he was wearing –as though prepared in case anyone called him to go for work now—stretching as he bent, head in his hands. He pulled back after a second. "She tried."

Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly.

"It's more than what most people did," he continued calmly. "And- she tried."

Hotch looked up to meet his gaze straight on. Morgan didn't look away, but it was an effort. "What did he do?" The question came out quickly, as though by rushing over the words it would lighten the answer as well, even though he knew it wouldn't.

Logic seemed to face a barrier when faced with Aaron Hotchner, though.

"Nothing too bad, nothing that warrants," he stopped there, then waved a hand between the two of them.

Morgan's brow rose, and he let a hint of amusement to slip into his tone when he said, "Yes?"

Hotch's face turned a slight pink high in his cheeks and he turned away. Then he frowned, expression sobering, and Morgan felt his smile slip.

"He was a narcissist," Hotch said. The word seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he was in, as though by using the words he used every single day on other people would distance him from the matter. "He didn't care about other people, couldn't be bothered."

"Not even with his own kids," Morgan said, although they both knew he was right, and he didn't need the confirmation.

Hotch nodded anyway. "Sometimes, he'd come home drunk, and he'd come into my room, and he needed to-"

"Vent," Morgan said when Hotch stopped, unsure of how to phrase it.

Hotch nodded again. "I was a small kid."

_Definitely not small now_, Morgan thought, looking over the broad shoulders and lean muscles before forcing himself to divert his attention back to the conversation. "Easy punching bags," Morgan said.

"Very easy, we didn't fight back much."

He couldn't imagine Hotch as he was now not fighting back, not doing something to defend himself from whatever was trying to hurt him.

Then his mind softened the edges of his face and shortened the body, making it thinner, and the boy in Hotch's place definitely looked like someone who wouldn't fight back. He felt the overwhelming urge to protect the boy, comfort him with a hug or something, but stopped himself, doubting that either boy or man would want it. They would both consider it pity.

"Sean was really young, just a baby, he doesn't even remember any of it-" Hotch shook his head. "I mean, I never told him any of it, of course-"

"Children are intuitive like that," Morgan excused Hotch.

"Just a kid really," Hotch said as though he hadn't heard him, and Morgan thought that maybe he hadn't.

"It's not your fault, Hotch."

The words were falling on deaf ears.

"I didn't want him to know," Hotch said, almost desperately, looking at Morgan with wide eyes. "I swear, I never meant for him for find out anything," he stressed the word.

"I know you did all you could," Morgan said softly. Probably did more than he should have at that age.

"But Mom talked a lot when she was drunk, and she was drunk a lot after Dad died, and there was nothing I could do, I couldn't stop her from saying anything, she just did, and I couldn't stop her, but I tried, God's, I did, I swear-"

Morgan wrapped his hands around the man, stifling the flow of words.

It wasn't the man in front of him, though, replaced by the boy.

Hotch was shivering, body shaking like the thinnest of leaves in the middle of a storm, letting Morgan envelope him, allowing Morgan to murmur into his hair –nothings that caused the shivering to subside slightly—and Morgan soaked it all in.

Hotch didn't cry, but it felt worse, as though he'd gone past that point and all that was left now was a ball of ache inside him just waiting to be let out.

Morgan didn't know what his father had done, but he didn't need to either.

All he needed was for Hotch to move on.

Hotch wasn't at work the next day.

Morgan noticed.

He stood somewhat awkwardly at Hotch's doorstep. By now, he really didn't need to knock or anything, especially since Clooney was barking loud enough to inform the whole neighborhood that they were visiting, and answering mewls erupted from the other side of the door. Nonetheless, he felt that he needed to, after what had happened two days ago, it would feel inappropriate to do anything else.

There was stumbling and a shuffle of footsteps before the door was opened.

Hotch stood before him with a sleepy expression, wearing pajama pants that slung low on his hips with a shirt covering his chest. He had an arm raised to rub his eyes but dropped it at the sight of Morgan.

A jerk pulled him forward and his hands raised instinctively, moving closer to Hotch. He dropped the leash as Clooney tugged harder at it, eager to chase the cat around the backyard. The moment the two animals disappeared he wished they would return, make noise, claw at his legs, anything to reduce the utter awkwardness of the moment.

"Uh- Hi," Morgan said after a few seconds.

"Hello," Hotch said formally, stepping back to let him in, and Morgan missed the soft warmth that had emitted from his body at once.

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, fingers massaging at the tight muscles there. Any other time he would have just made his way to the living room as though he'd been living here his whole life or something, but now, now he waited for Hotch to say something, or do something. Anything, really.

"So," he said as an opening.

"So," Hotch repeated after him.

Morgan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was all getting to be a little too high school for him. "So," he said again, more forcefully this time.

Hotch gave a small smile.

"So," he tilted his head to the living room in an invitation.

Morgan nodded his thanks, sitting down on the couch in a position he was become so comfortable and familiar that it was only when Hotch sat next to him did he realize what had occurred the last time they had been in this position. He thought that, maybe, he should have opted for a different seat.

Hotch seemed to have noticed the same thing at the time and he coughed, faking it poorly.

"I-" he stumbled on his words, "I just wanted to, you know," he looked away from his gaze, "for what you did," he bit his lip, and Morgan watched his lip being caught by his teeth too carefully. "So, I just want to-"

"You're welcome," Morgan interrupted, forcing his eyes to climb away from his lip to meet his eyes.

"No," Hotch said loudly, too loudly in the silent air, and the sound of Peaches screeching was loud in his ears. "Thank you," he said, sharp and soft all at the same time, as though it physically pained him to say it. "You didn't have to hear me out, but you did, so, thank you."

He visibly relaxed, shoulders collapsing on himself as if the weight of the world had been lifted from him. He looked up with weary eyes that were still bright, the corner of his moth turning up in the smallest of smiles, and Morgan couldn't help but return it.

"Like I said, you're welcome," Morgan said again, more warmly this time.

Hotch smiled more widely at him, looking striking innocent in his gaze for a split second.

"So," Morgan said, grinning.

Hotch rolled his eyes. "So."

He turned on the television with a click of the remote, and a programme with cartoons popped up. A screwdriver was singing, Morgan noticed with furrowed brows. "Uh- Aaron?"

Hotch looked over. "Jack likes the show," he said defensively.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Handy Manny, it's about a man with tools who sing when they fix stuff, he's a carpenter." The man on television had a red truck, another screwdriver was there, and a bald man, and Morgan didn't even try to follow the story. "See, the bald guy, he owns a cat, and he's always mucking up things, but he refuses to let Manny help him," Hotch explained with a fond smile.

"Why do you even-" Morgan stopped and shook his head. "Let me guess, Jack?"

Hotch nodded with a grin. "He likes this show, plus, no banging or cars being blown up, so it's nice for me too."

"Nope, you just have," he made a face at the screen, "and all that." Another face at the screen.

"It's not that bad," Hotch protested, defending the show and his son.

"Aaron, I'm watching screwdrivers fight for a carpenter's attention," Morgan said in a pained voice.

"He's not," Hotch shook his head, "It's just that they're both screwdrivers except one has a flat head and the other a round one, so the blue one did all the work but the other one took the credit, right? So the blue one is really annoyed because he thinks he deserves it," Hotch smiled, "At the end of the episode, the blue one finally gets the credit that he deserves."

Morgan blinked dumbly. "I don't know which one of that to hit on first."

"What?" Hotch said.

"Well, there's the fact that you've already watched this enough to know the whole episode."

Hotch's lips pursed. "Jack has watched it almost thrice, it's hard to miss out on it."

"And the fact that there are genders for the things."

"Of course they do," Hotch said matter-of-factly.

"And that," Morgan ended.

"What?"

"The 'of course'ness of the whole thing," Morgan said in an exclamation.

Hotch frowned. "I don't think 'of course'ness is a real… anything."

"Well, if it was it'd be the word to use here-"

"I don't think it's a word, it's more like a phrase, since of course is two words," Hotch said, face scrounging up in thought. "And, about what?"

Morgan chose to ignore the first part –because who actually thought so much about a word?- and said, "The whole tools having a gender thing, or that they can even talk, you're so-"

"Used to it?" Hotch looked amused.

"Well, yeah," he finished, a little lamely, as though he had used up all of his steam.

"Like I said, Jack likes the show."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Excuses. Jack isn't here now but we're still watching it," he pointed out.

Hotch shrugged. "You get used to it."

"What?"

"The cartoons, the messy kitchen, the toys in your bed," Hotch grinned. "Hard to break those habits."

Morgan's stomach gave an uneasy flip at the word _bed_ and he forced himself to smile. "Yeah? He's coming over this weekend right." Hotch lit up as he said it, and that was answer enough. "Hope he gets used to having Peaches around," he said, looking as the cat ran, pouncing onto his lap before licking his face.

"I don't think that's a problem," Hotch said. "Hailey said that now he wants Peaches with him all the time."

"Good kid," Morgan said neutrally, ignoring the mention of Hailey. Hotch seemed to be over the divorce, but he couldn't say that he liked the woman that much. She was overbearing and he had seen Hotch struggle with everything at first –he didn't like her at all.

Hotch picked up on it. "Yeah, he is."

The repeated thump of Clooney's tail against the floor was enough of a distraction for both of them.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Morgan said, sliding into the room and seating himself on the chair comfortably. Garcia finished typing whatever it was that she was doing on the screen before turning to him with a grin.

"Hot Stuff," Garcia grinned, "Haven't seen much of you these days."

Morgan shrugged. "Been busy."

"I know."

Morgan looked at her carefully at the words, she sounded more knowing than usual. "What do you know?" he asked, keeping his voice steady.

Garcia waggled her eyebrows. "You know."

"I know?" he frowned.

"Yeah, you kno-ow," she said, more pointedly. "And I know too."

"We know," he clarified.

"Yes, we know," she looked as though they'd just achieved something, but hell if he knew what the something was.

"What do we know?"

Her face fell. "Derek, you know what we know."

"If I knew what we know I wouldn't be asking you what we know," Morgan said, frowning now.

She rolled her eyes. "You do know what we know, but you don't which it is, so you know what we know without knowing what what we know is." She paused, "Got it?"

Morgan shook his head. "I lost you at I know."

"I never said I know."

"No, you said you know, which is I know, and-" he held up his hands. "Forget it, would you just tell me what we both know?"

Garcia shook her head. "But, that totally ruins the fun of you not knowing what we know," she smiled brightly.

"You mean, what you know, since I still don't know what it is," Morgan said, knowing that it was a lost cause to try with her now. At least he knew something.

"Oh, don't worry," she patted his shoulder. "You do know, you just have to wait to find out."

He almost pouted. "But I want to know now," he tried.

"Sorry, Sweet Cheeks," Garcia shrugged. "But it's not just for you and I to decide-"

"You and me," he corrected.

Garcia's brow rose. "Are you correcting my grammar?"

Morgan flushed slightly. "Aar- Hotch doesn't like it, wants Jack to start learning now and all that."

Garcia's smile looked more than a little manic. "Oh, does he?"

"Yeah, he keeps making Jack watch these lame ass cartoons without guns and all that, something about not promoting violence in the house. And the man carries two guns with him every day." The irony of it wasn't lost on him, but he couldn't fault Hotch for it. He shook his head, "Now, why isn't it just for us to decide?"

Garcia looked like she wanted to pursue the Hotch line of topic, but his pointed stare forced her to sigh and answer. "Because JJ and Emily should be here too," she paused. "And maybe Reid, he's been hanging out with us a lot since you and Hotch keep wandering off together."

Morgan's flushed darken. "Yeah, about that-"

"Apology accepted," Garcia said with a grand gesture.

"I didn't mean to," he said anyways, because he hadn't.

It had just happened, and he didn't really want it to change.

"Can't say I blame you," Garcia continued, looking at him carefully. "I don't think Hotch minds too much either."

He thought that he was red. "Well, I can't speak for him-"

"Sure you can," Garcia decided for them both. "So?"

"Well- What 'so'?"

He was lost in the conversation; Garcia had that effect.

Garcia rolled her eyes. "I mean, do you think Hotch minds being your new best boy friend?"

Morgan almost fell out of the chair in his hurry to protest. "What? He's not- that, he's a friend, for God's sake, we don't- Garcia-"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Garcia chided, allowing a small smirk to slide over her face at his reaction. "I meant boy friend, as in, a friend who is a boy. Like I'm your best girl friend, see? There's a space in between."

"Oh," he calmed, settling into the chair again. "Well, I don't think he does. He's fun to hang out with, and Sean's not that bad either-"

"Wait, Sean? As in, the hottie hot hottie who is somehow related to Hotch?" Garcia demanded.

Morgan nodded. "He visited the other day, and I think he's coming back today or tomorrow? Depends on his work load, he's pretty wanted at the place he works in, I think he's getting a promotion soon."

Garcia blinked. "You know a lot about the guy."

"Aaron talks about him a bit, and when he came he talked... more than a bit," he said tactfully.

Garcia nodded in understanding. "So, you're going to be visiting him again?"

"Yeah, after all, Clooney loves Peaches and Peaches loves me, so, it works out every way." Garcia didn't ask who he loved, and he didn't think he would have known how to answer the question either. Not truthfully anyways.

"Hotch doesn't mind?"

"I don't think he does," Morgan answered slowly. "He's never said anything about it," he frowned. He'd never explicitly asked for permission to visit the last few trips, just went over as though it was what should have happened, and it felt like it did.

"Then he's probably good," Garcia said knowingly.

Morgan gave a half-smile. "Baby Girl, what aren't you telling me?"

Garcia opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. "Never mind."

He frowned, but let her get away with it. His phone rang and he opened it with a snap. "Hello?"

"Derek, we have a case," Hotch's voice came, and he smiled at it, even though he knew that someone had probably died, but it was good to hear from the man.

"Got it," he said, before snapping the phone shut and standing up. "See ya," he threw over his shoulder as he walked out.

"Derek?"

He stopped at the doorway and turned back.

Garcia gave him a soft smile. "I don't think Hotch will mind too much if you take out the space."

It took him a while to understand, but Garcia was already back tapping at her keyboard.

Morgan had been standing outside of Hotch's house for five minutes now. The only reason he had taken two steps closer was that the old woman who lived directly opposite Hotch's house was looking at him through the window, and it felt like he'd be safer when closer to the place.

Probably thought he was a thief studying the layout of the building or something.

Clooney wasn't with him, and the neighborhood was blissfully silent, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to make a move.

The world included the tiny old woman who was still staring at him and _how_ did Hotch live with this?

He went to the doorstep and raised his hand to knock, but it opened before he could.

"I was wondering when you'd come in."

Sean Hotchner had a gleeful smirk on his face.

"Hey, Sean," he said, "Aaron here?"

Sean ignored his questions. "You do realize that you stood out there for seven minutes and twenty three seconds before even taking two steps, and that it took another four minutes and nineteen seconds for you to actually come up here. I thought that Mrs. Crossley would die of anticipation." His smirk widened.

"That her name?" he asked, turning back to catch a blue curtain suspiciously drawing shut. He turned back and waited for two seconds. "Has she opened them again?"

Sean laughed, "Yeah."

"She keeps looking out every time I come, she knows I help Aaron with Peaches, but I never-"

"Stood outside like an idiot for so long?"

Morgan grinned. "Not exactly what I was going for, but yeah."

"I give her until the evening to come over here with an excuse to find out who you are."

Morgan shook his head. "I give her twenty minutes."

"You think so little of the stamina of old women?" Sean asked.

"No, but I think a lot of the curiosity of women in general."

"Sisters?"

"Two of them," he said, sighing sadly. "Can't live with them-"

"Can't live without them?"

"I was going to say Can't get away from them," Morgan grinned. "It's like trying to hide from Houdini, just not possible, man. Now, you going to let me in?"

Sean stepped back and waved his hand, bowing slightly. "Of course, young sir," he faked a British accent. "Is there anything else you would like, sir?"

_Your brother._

"Where's Aaron?" That sounded less like he was going to eat the man.

"He's gone out to buy some stuff," Sean said. "Jack's coming over tomorrow and he's running low on baby food."

"It's not baby food, it's food-"

"Suitable for toddlers," he rolled his eyes. "God, you two are so-" He shook his head, "Never mind. You know it."

"I know it?"

"Yeah, you know," Sean looked at him pointedly.

Morgan frowned. "Have you been talking to Garcia?"

"Who?"

"Our tech geek, blonde hair, very bright clothes," Morgan described.

"No clue, man," Sean said. "Might have seen her at the office," he shrugged. "Can't be bothered to remember your team, you people keep changing."

Morgan took offense. "I've stayed with Aaron-"

"Hey, I didn't mean you," Sean raised his hands. "But you've got to admit, the job isn't easy, and a lot of people can't take it. It's nice that someone stays with my brother." He sat down on the chair, Morgan assuming his usual position on the couch –and what did it say about him that he had a usual position in Hotch's house?— and looked at Sean.

"What were you saying about knowing something earlier?" Morgan asked.

Sean's brow rose. "You can't honestly not know."

"I don't know, but I will if you tell me." He was going to die before getting an answer out of these people. He wondered if he attracted people like this or if they were just a freaky coincidence. He thought it was the former, because practically everyone on the team acted like that.

"You and Aaron," Sean said, shrugging, and he turned to the television.

Morgan straightened. "What?"

"You kno-"

"Sean Hotchner, I do not know, and I swear if you don't tell me-" his voice was sharp, and Sean looked too happy.

"About you and my brother." He shuddered, "I don't need the details, so just keep those to yourself, okay? Tell me what needs to be told and that's all I need to know."

"Why does everyone seem to know this thing?"

"So you admit that there's a thing," Sean grinned. "That's awesome, first step is admitting it and all that."

"I'm not an alcoholic."

"You get the idea," Sean waved a hand. "So, what's going on?"

"With what?" he burst out, more than a little annoyed with the furtiveness and the constant evasion that he'd been facing from everyone for the past two days.

"You and Aaron being together," Sean said simply.

Morgan's eyes widened. "What?" the word came out as a squawk.

"You-"

"Say 'you know' one more time and I'll kill you, and I'll get away with it too," Morgan said.

Sean smirked. "I would, but looks like you don't know." He shook his head. "Are you blind? Aaron's liked you since that damn cat came into the house." Said damn cat leaped onto his lap, rubbing it's head against his body, as if trying to comfort him.

"He- he has?" he managed to get out.

"Definitely not the smart one in the group," Sean muttered. "And, yeah, he has. He took the cat, didn't he? Lil' Peachy? He wouldn't do that if he hated you."

"We're friends-"

"Friends do not have the whole 'trust-issue and turning-for-comfort and unresolved-sexual-tension and wanting-to-do-more-than-just-hugging and family-being and cat-loving' that you two have going," Sean said. The look on his face was almost painfully gleeful.

_Sadist_.

After a moment, he managed to stammer out, "Did everyone-"

"See the thing? Yeah, except they saw it as 'finishing-each-others-lines and working-too-closely and sitting-next-to-each-other-on-the-plane and rooming-together and unresolved-sexual-tension and cat-loving', since they haven't seen you here. And they're not Aaron's brother," he added as an afterthought. "You two are pretty obvious."

"But-"

"Don't bother making excuses, I'm not judging you or whatever."

Sean turned back to the television. It seemed that he was the only one who felt like the world was crumbling around him.

"I think you two should talk."

The words shook him from the daze he was in. "What?" he asked.

"Talk. To. Him," Sean said slowly, as though talking to a two year old. "Today."

"Today?"

"Today."

"Today's not a good day," he said, although he didn't even remember what day it was.

Sean grinned. "Man, you have it bad. Admit it."

"I don't." The words were automatic, mainly because his sisters would use the same two words except in different contexts and it was always good to deny things. Denial was good, safe, comfortable.

"Egypt working well for you?"

Morgan scowled, "I like the sun."

"Yeah, denial's flowing aplenty." Sean shook his head, standing up. "Talk to him, I'm going to get out of your way so you two can work out- whatever."

"Wait, where're you going?" he stood up, and Peaches screeched as he fell off his lap in his haste. Sean was the only person standing between him and Hotch, and he really didn't want to lose that barrier, annoying as it was.

"I'm going to be nice," Sean said, grabbing his coat, "And go over to tell Mrs. Crossley that my brother's got himself a boyfriend."

There wasn't even a space in between.

By the time Hotch returned Morgan had picked up Peaches and started stroking him, letting the repetitive motion calm him, allowing him to sort through everything in his head. He had just reached the epiphany that he liked Hotch when the door opened, and he stood up to help the man carry his bags.

"Derek," Hotch smiled. "What are you doing here?" He let Morgan take a few of the bags from his hand, walking towards the kitchen. "Has Sean left?"

"I think he's at Mrs. Crossley's," he said, trying not to say it shortly but failing.

Hotch picked up on his tone. "Did something happen?"

"No," Morgan said, "Well- yeah, but nothing bad."

And it wasn't bad, he thought, liking Hotch wasn't the best thing ever –he was a man, his boss, a _man_, his _boss_- but besides that, it was good.

"What?" Hotch placed the last of the bags on the table and turned to him, hands crossed. Morgan noticed how the shirt tightened at the movement.

"Just- stuff." He was evading, and not very well too.

"Like?" Hotch's brow rose.

"You know."

He'd fallen into it too, the knowing. Although, now that he was using it he realized why the other two had, it was a remarkably easy phrase, encompassing all and nothing, vague enough for most people. But, of course, Hotch was not most people.

"What exactly do you believe I know?" he asked.

"Something Sean and Garcia said."

Hotch frowned, as though wondering what both Sean and Garcia could know, two people who had never met much less held a real conversation. "What did they say?"

Now that Hotch had asked the question he didn't know how to answer. To say 'That you like me' sounded too forward, and the opposite was the same. 'That we should be together' sounded like something out of one of those cartoon movies that Jack had been watching, some cars talking or something. 'That we should have sex' sounded like a perfect idea in his mind, but he didn't think Hotch would appreciate the sentiment.

He fell back on the familiar.

"You know."

Hotch looked amused at his obvious discomfort. "I thought we'd gone past that."

Hotch was still looking at him expectantly, and Morgan blinked. "What?"

"What do you think I know?"

Morgan blushed. "Well, they had this, idea, I guess- your brother and Garcia, and those two should meet because I think it takes one to know one and they're both kind of wacky, so they were talking to me –Garcia back at work of course, before you called me. Although, I don't think you'd remember that but, yeah, she was talking to me then- and then I met your brother here, and he talked to me, he's nothing like you, very annoying really, shouldn't care so much about his clothes, reminds me of Garcia a lot, similarities-"

"Derek," Hotch interrupted gently. "You're rambling."

Morgan cleared his throat. Opened his mouth to speak, then found that he couldn't. Closed it again.

"Fuck it-"

He stepped forward to Hotch, the man leaning against the table, eyes widening infinitesimally as he moved near him, and kissed him, the briefest of touches of lips –Hotch's lips were soft, slightly wet, he noticed—and he pulled back before Hotch could react.

He looked down, shrugging. "Now, you know."

Hotch didn't say anything, blinking rapidly as though trying to come to terms with what Morgan had done, mouth falling open slightly in a way that would have been tempting in any other set of circumstances. As it was, he was just glad the man hadn't taken out a gun and shot him through the head.

"Oh."

It wasn't what he had expected Hotch to say, but it was better than the uneasy silence that had filled the room.

"Listen, Aaron, I-" He wasn't sorry, that much he knew. "I shouldn't have done that without asking or something, for that, I'm sorry," he said. "I guess I just- sorry?" he ended with a slight question, staring at the floor.

"Oh."

He looked up then, unable to hide the smile from his face. He had never seen Hotch look so… dazed. "As flattering as that is, could you say something else, man?"

"Uh-"

It was better than another 'Oh', but only marginally.

He squirmed. "Aaron?" He felt like poking the man, just to see if it would garner him a reaction. He was stiff, body straight against the table, hands still folded. "You're not going to fire me or anything, right?" The idea had only just occurred to him. "Fuck, look, if you want we can both forget this ever happened and- Could you just not fire me? I like this job," he said, somewhat helplessly.

That snapped Hotch out of it. "I'm not going to fire you."

Morgan relaxed. Then, "Are you going to make my work life a living hell?"

"I thought I already did," Hotch said dryly.

"You could be worse." After he said it, he wondered if he should have –Hotch didn't really need the reminder that he could ruin him if he wanted to.

"I'm not going to ruin your life, Derek."

Hotch was still using his first name, and Morgan thought that it had never sounded that good before. "So, you're-" He stopped, what was he going to say –fine, good, horny as hell and in need of a quick fuck? "Okay?" he decided on, the same word he'd used to describe every test he knew he had failed, and every game which they were bound to lose, and every day he was beat up.

"Derek-" Hotch broke off. Then he walked closer, and Morgan tensed, knowing that Hotch could take him down anytime if he wanted to –he would let him too. "What was that you said?"

Morgan looked up carefully, seeing the carefully steady expression. "You know?"

"Nope, something along the lines of," Hotch smiled, "Fuck it."

Then he bent down to kiss him.

It was tentative, Hotch asking for permission that he was all too ready to give, and Morgan knew he was trembling, enough so for Hotch to notice and lay a hand on his back, not insistent or pressing, but just there. His eyes darted, thoughts of whether this was a joke or if Hotch would pull away flitting through his mind, but he wanted to believe that it was real –that Hotch was doing it for him, them—and relaxed.

Hotch's tongue reached out, licking his lower lip, and it was shock more than anything that caused it to open, allowing Hotch to lick inside him, at the inner walls of his cheeks and swipe over his teeth.

He thought that it should be different, but it wasn't, because it was the same thing with women, the questions in his mind the same, should he tilt his head in this direction or that, should he be using more tongue, should he be more gentle or just rush it. It occurred to him that Hotch must have shaved earlier because the skin brushing against his had the merest hint of roughness and his mouth was no different from a girl's, thinner, but still soft and pliant against his.

Morgan let his hand slide up into Hotch's hair, clutching it with his fingers, not letting his touch become painful.

Hotch moved closer and only then did Morgan understand the difference, because the hardness pressing against his hip was decidedly male, and the chest that pushed him back into the wall was lean and muscled, and the arms that encircled him were pure force.

"Gods," he managed to get out, and Hotch pulled back.

His eyes were darker than Morgan remembered them, and his lips were bruised and swollen, the sight alone making Morgan tug at him. "What do you want to do?" Hotch asked, and Morgan could hardly think, much less speak, because Hotch was too close.

"Kissing me would be good for now," he gasped, and succeeded in pulling Hotch back into his grasp, claiming his lips again, more than happy to let Hotch take the lead.

"Later?" Hotch asked, and Morgan wished the man would learn to shut up.

"We'll worry about later later, okay?" He kissed Hotch, stifling any response he might have given.

Then a loud meow and an insistent –and painful—claw at his leg made him gasp again, for a completely different reason, and he pulled back. "Fuck," he cursed, sliding onto the floor as Peaches scratched at him until he was compelled to do so.

Hotch almost fell as he was pulled and then muttered something that sounded strangely like, "Jinkies."

"Did you actually just say Jinkies?" he looked up at Hotch while Peaches purred happily in his lap. His pants were torn slightly, and he easily ignored the soft trickle of blood down his leg. He'd suffered far worse, even in training sessions. "You've been watching a little too much Scooby Doo, Aaron."

"I'm not supposed to curse." Hotch slid down next to him, a hand out and patting Peaches automatically.

"But Jinkies?" he grinned.

"It's either that or Cheez 'n Crackers," Hotch said, closing his eyes and dropping his head against the wall. Then, "I hate this cat."

Morgan laughed. "Next time, we'll do it behind locked doors, preferably your bedroom."

Hotch's eyes opened. "So there's going to be a next time?"

Morgan tensed. "I was hoping, yeah."

Hotch smiled. "Good."

"Good."

Peaches mewled in agreement.

Next time, Morgan made sure they were behind doors.

Locked, too.

Morgan kissed Hotch hungrily, their combined weight causing the door to open and hit the wall with a bang. He smiled against Hotch's mouth, closing it shut with a foot. The first time they'd forgotten to close it properly, Peaches had somehow found his way inside. He reached blindly behind him with a hand, locking it shut.

Morgan moved his head down, pressing a kiss against the sliver of skin visible at Hotch's neck, fingers tugging at the red tie that Jack had bought for him on Father's Day. He managed to loosen it and then pulled it off, flinging it away without any real thought as to where it would land, almost biting the skin when Hotch's hand moved to cup his ass, fingers pressing just enough to make him jerk.

"Fuck," he whispered, pressing into Hotch.

He opened his eyes, and squinted a little at the sudden light. Hotch didn't seem to notice where they were heading, and Morgan was pressed against the closest wall, Hotch's knee sliding between his thighs, and Morgan's head fell back in a gasp.

Hotch's hand pressed harder against his ass, his fingers moving lower to brush against his balls through the thin material of his pants. Morgan kissed him, his tongue exploring the expanse of Hotch's mouth and arching his back when Hotch's hand became more insistent. Hotch thrust against him and he felt his breath strain, hitching slightly as he continued kissing Hotch, not willing to break away for air because Hotch's taste was so much better.

"Bed," Hotch murmured against his skin, breath warm as his hands crept to the end of Morgan's shirt. Morgan nodded, shuffling his feet until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Hotch laughed slightly, and Morgan would have felt affronted if Hotch wasn't pushing at his shirt, tugging it up.

Hotch pulled it off with one hand, the other hand caressing the muscles that were shown, even as he half-pushed Morgan onto the bed. Hotch stood over him for a second, and Morgan wondered what he saw –a naked chest, thin pants that did nothing to hide the erection straining against it, sweaty and bright skin, half-lidded eyes and swollen and spit slicked lips.

Hotch shook his head slightly. "Gods," he whispered, before climbing onto his body, straddling his waist. "You're gorgeous, you know?" he asked rhetorically.

"You're better," he said, because Hotch was, in every way. His hands moved, resting on Hotch's hips and he could feel Hotch tense, muscles bunching above him. "C'mere," he managed, pulling Hotch down to kiss him softly, licking his lips softly. Hotch relaxed under the kiss, and he pulled back to lick a trail down Hotch's neck, fingers working at the buttons on his shirt.

He opened the shirt completely, and Hotch smirked slightly at his dazed expression.

Morgan noticed and acted, moving to switch their positions, leaving Hotch beneath him. He reached down and bit at the skin of Hotch's collarbone hard enough to leave a mark before moving lower, swiping his tongue over Hotch's nipple until it puckered and he sucked it briefly.

He smirked at Hotch's expression this time, and kissed the mouth, which hung slightly agape.

He moved lower until he was straddling Hotch's lower legs, and he fingered the belt of Hotch's pants, a glossy black thing that he heard hit the wall. "Shouldn't wear that," he said conversationally, pushing Hotch's boxers down with his pants and watching his cock spring up, red and pulsing.

"Shut up," Hotch said, without any real heat in his words, and he licked his lips as Morgan looked at him intently. Hotch looked more wary for a moment, "You don't have to do this you know." He felt the muscles of Hotch's legs tense at the force of his stare on him.

"Now you shut up," Morgan said childishly, the urge to stick out his tongue coming over him.

"What are we, five?" Hotch grinned.

Morgan felt his own erection press against his boxers, wetting it with the precome that had quickly collected. He reached a hand down and pulled it off, useless thing.

"Child at heart," he said, although he had never done this as a child, what he was about to. Hotch's pupils were large in his eyes and Morgan acted before the man could try to stop him any further, because he knew Hotch would, he was damningly protective like that.

He bent forward, using his hands to keep his balance over Hotch, and his mouth hovered over the tip of Hotch's cock for a few moments. He looked up at Hotch, and he was looking down at him, his lip captured by his teeth to keep his silence. He breathed out, and Hotch's stomach clenched, his teeth biting down harder and hands fisting into the sheets to stop himself from jerking upwards.

His tongue flickered out, licking the first drops of precome off the cock, letting the taste sink into his tongue. It was bitter, not exactly pleasant –an acquired taste, he decided, and then decided that he would like to acquire it.

Hotch's hand shot out from where it had been almost tearing apart the sheet and pressed into his head. Hotch's fingers were hard on his head, not pressing him down –because Hotch would never do that to him—but a steady presence in case he needed guidance at any point in time. He let his tongue reach out again, this time licking the tip of Hotch's cock more firmly, letting his tongue stroke the point.

He moved slightly closer and slid his lips over the tip of Hotch's cock, letting his tongue circle the circumference of it. He remembered to cover his teeth with his lips, but it was difficult to keep a constant reminder. The fact that it was _Hotch_ and he really didn't want to mess up things with the man helped to keep the fact in his mind, though.

Hotch's fingers jerked, and he removed them, and Morgan's eyes flickered up to watch the man strain with the effort not to make movement, so that he wouldn't be rushing Morgan into anything.

He used his hands to cup Hotch's balls as he slipped Hotch's cock further into his mouth. He couldn't take it too deep, but he thought that he could with enough practice. From the rough sound of Hotch's quick breaths he didn't think it would be difficult to find a volunteer in Hotch. He smiled slightly, breathing carefully through his nose so he didn't do anything mortifying like pass out.

His head bobbed in a rhythm of sorts and his jaws strained slightly at the pain of keeping his mouth open to encompass the thick length. He sucked harder and Hotch couldn't resist raising his hips. The very idea of Hotch fucking his mouth made him harden, although he wasn't sure if it was because it was Hotch, or anyone fucking his mouth, but thought it might be a combination of the two.

Hotch made a keening sort of sound deep in his throat and Morgan sucked harder one last time, his hand tightening around his balls, and he pulled away.

Hotch's eyes flew open. "What're you doing?"

Morgan smirked. "Stopping."

"Why?" Hotch half-whined.

"Because," Morgan moved, slithering up the length of Hotch's body, and kissed him, letting Hotch taste himself with some glee, "somebody needs to get fucked, and are you sure you can manage two rounds in one night, old man?"

Hotch rolled his eyes. "I hate you right now," he said, kissing Morgan slowly and deeply.

"Same," Morgan said, nipping at Hotch's lips. "So?"

Hotch didn't pretend to misunderstand. They hadn't actually had sex yet, quick hand jobs against the wall or humping each other against the bed, they had, but not the actual act. Hotch looked at Morgan carefully, "What do you want to do?"

Morgan bit his lip, eyes darkening slightly. "Aaron- I don't think I-"

Hotch kissed him again, softly this time. "You don't need to explain yourself. Drawer," he said, nudging Morgan's nose with his.

Morgan smiled, "Thank you."

"If you don't do something soon you won't be thanking me," Hotch mock threatened.

Morgan leaned over, not removing himself from Hotch's body, and the brush of their cocks against each other made Hotch pant slightly. He opened the drawer, taking out a small bottle of oil and a condom. "You're clean," he said plainly.

Hotch blushed slightly. "I've only ever been with Hailey," he said, somewhat shyly.

"Messy without this, anyway," he said, slipping on the piece of plastic with an ease gained through pure practice. Hotch was looking at him with a look Morgan couldn't decipher and he smiled, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

Hotch's shyness faded. "I'm not going to break, Derek, just- _do_ something."

Morgan opened the bottle, letting the liquid pour over his fingers, needing something to occupy himself before he came all over Hotch without even doing anything to the man. He moved his hand down Hotch's body, leaving a wet trail in his wake, and placed his hand at Hotch's thigh, and Hotch hooked it over Morgan's legs in understanding. Morgan let his hand massage his leg slightly before moving it.

He moved his hand over Hotch's cock and balls until he reached the puckered hole, making warmth curl in his belly in anticipation. "Fuck, Aaron-"

"And hurry up," Hotch gasped as Morgan's fingers covered his hole with the wet oil, before the finger carefully nudged at his entrance. Morgan pressed his finger against the opening lightly, and Hotch let out a soft noise that he took as encouragement and pressed harder.

He pulled his hand away and coated it with more oil before bringing it back. He allowed his finger to slip into the warmth and tightness, and Hotch clenched around him. Morgan leant down to press his lips against Hotch's, soft kisses to make him relax. Hotch did relax, only fractionally, but Morgan felt it all around his finger. The heat and warmth and tightness and- "God's, Aaron."

Hotch made another noise, a mixture of a gasp and a moan, and he pushed against Morgan's finger. He took it as a sign to pull away the finger and add another, and Hotch took both in easily. Hotch's lips let out a groan under his mouth, his hips moving in time with the movement of his fingers in him.

"Fuck, Derek," Hotch gasped, and he wondered faintly when the man had forgotten his need to keep hold of his tongue and felt a slight, and not entirely misplaced, pride at it.

He let out a low hiss, already waiting in anticipation for the feel of Hotch surrounding him completely, the way Hotch would scream his name, the scent of Hotch enveloping him. He didn't remember feeling this way with anyone else, this urgent need pressing at him and his cock.

He pulled out and Hotch moved to rest more comfortably on his back. Morgan took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, Hotch laid out for him, and Hotch looked at him with slight annoyance, giving him a look that clearly meant 'Get on with it'.

Morgan took a pillow and placed it under his hips, and Hotch's hips lifted, his cock brushing against his stomach almost painfully. Morgan moved up and positioned himself before he pressed down, cock liberally slathered with oil, and less than an inch of it was immediately enveloped by the small hole, and Morgan didn't think that Hotch will be able to take it. Hotch tensed around him instinctively and Morgan bent down to kiss him softly, hoping that the action would sooth him.

Hotch groaned and then pulled his legs apart and up, "Hurry the fuck up, Derek."

"Such language," Morgan tsked, smirking affectionately.

The words had the wanted effect of lessening the tension of the muscles around him and Morgan slipped in a little more, and he kissed a little harder, his tongue seeking the warmth of Hotch's mouth. "Relax," he murmured, and Hotch did, just a little more, and that was all it took for the head of his cock to slip in and Morgan wondered why he had never done this before because it was an incomprehensible feeling.

Hotch winced slightly and Morgan looked at him with concern in his eyes. "You okay?" He bit his lip to keep from crying out or shoving himself into his body fully, because even though he knew that Hotch was in pain he still felt on a high like he hadn't ever before.

"Just give me a moment," Hotch said, forehead scrounging as he concentrated on relaxing.

Morgan was amused and showed it by kissing the man again, it was quickly becoming addictive. Hotch nodded after a moment and Morgan let himself slip in slightly more, a hand on his cock to keep it steady. Hotch breathed harshly, with his hand coming up to grip at Morgan's biceps painfully, his nails digging in and creating small scars on his skin, as sweat slicked as it was.

He moved in when Hotch arched his back, pushing against him, and Morgan thought that he wouldn't last any longer. "Aaron, Aaron, fuck-" his breath hitched.

"Derek, God, just- fuck me already-"

Morgan had the retort that he was fucking Hotch on his tongue, but then Hotch moved just like that, and hell if he couldn't resist pushing in.

"This good?" he asked, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Hotch.

Hotch's breath came out in harsh breaths, and he said, "Hell yeah."

Hotch pushed up on his cock, suddenly letting out a long moan when Morgan's cock hit him just right, and Morgan pushed in again. He leaned down to kiss Hotch but they were both too high, and they were sharing small gasps and whispers instead of any actual kissing, but Morgan nipped at his lips and licked at the skin of his neck and that was just as good. He moved his hand to grab Hotch's cock, wanting to make him feel the same pleasure he was, and his hand refused to cooperate for a few moments before he grabbed it properly, hand slicked with sweat and lube, making the movements smooth.

Morgan felt his balls contract and his world narrowed, it was just him and Hotch and the sensation of Hotch surrounding him completely, with Hotch's pants and his own little whimpers filling the air. He felt the sharp pain of Hotch's nails against his skin in contrast with the absolute pleasure of his hand around Hotch's cock.

Nothing but him and Hotch.

"Fuck, Aaron, Aaron," he chanted his name in time with every push until his voice broke and he was coming, deep in Hotch and he felt something under him, Hotch's semen slathered over his stomach and his own hand.

His hips bucked harder at Hotch's, fast and hard and his balls slapping at Hotch's ass with every thrust, and the waves of pleasure overcame him, leaving only pleasure in their wake. His hands gave way and he moved, slipping off of Hotch and lying on his side near Hotch.

Hotch's chest was heaving with the harshness of his breaths, and Morgan watched him recover for a moment. Hotch took a few more breaths before he could turn to look at Morgan. "Fuck," Hotch said.

"You only said that cause you don't get to most of the time, right?" Morgan teased, slipping off the plastic and throwing it into the wastepaper basket.

"Could be because I was just really well fucked," Hotch smiled.

Morgan inched closer and placed a hand over Hotch's side. Hotch didn't protest.

"So," he said.

Hotch's eyes were closing against will. "So."

Morgan watched Hotch sleep, the most peaceful expression he had ever seen on the man, before he too fell asleep.

Morgan was still watching Hotch when they woke up, watching the easy rise and fall of his chest and the softly opened mouth, and he couldn't resist leaning over to kiss it gently. Hotch stirred, eyes fluttering open, and he looked exactly like a character from a fairytale.

"Morning," Morgan said in a whisper.

Hotch smiled, "Morning."

"So," Morgan said. "You're okay?"

Hotch moved, and a small wince crossed his face. "A little sore, but I'll get used to it." Morgan couldn't hold back the smile that stretched across his face at that.

"Good," he said.

Then, he caught sight of Hotch's tie hanging from the bedpost.

"You think that's why they call it a tie?" Morgan asked, drawing circles on Hotch's chest with a lazy finger.

"Why?" Hotch asked, voice low and drawling, still sleepy from the morning.

"Cause I can tie you up," Morgan said teasingly, chuckling at his own joke.

Hotch laughed. "Couldn't be." He heaved himself up, feet on cold ground. Morgan watched him walk around the room, the sheet covering him falling off.

"Why not?" he asked, eyes fixed on the naked man.

"Because you couldn't," Hotch shrugged, bending down and picking up his clothes as he walked.

Morgan was distracted by the sight for a second before he registered what Hotch had said. "What?"

"Derek, you can't tie me up," Hotch said, almost patiently.

Morgan frowned. "Why the hell not?"

"You can't," Hotch shrugged. "It's like," he searched for another supposedly impossible set of circumstances, "Gideon seducing Reid," he settled on.

Morgan shuddered, "That's just wrong, man." He shook his head to rid himself of the thought, "And I could totally tie you up if I wanted you."

"No, you couldn't."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "That a challenge?"

Hotch grinned, "Just a fact."

"You do realize that you were being fucked last night, by me," Morgan said, leaning on his elbows.

"Only because I let you," Hotch smirked. He threw a pair of shorts at Morgan, who caught it with one hand, still glaring at Hotch. "Now, change up, Jack's coming over soon." There was a loud mewl from the other side of the door, and Hotch glanced over. "And it's your turn to bring Peaches to the park." Hotch opened the door, knowing that Peaches would want entrance soon.

Morgan watched him walk into the bathroom –stupid smug smile still on his conceited little face— and his lips thinned dangerously. "Can't tie you up, huh?" He paused, then shook his head, "Don't talk to yourself, Derek."

The cat walked in, tail high in the air, giving him a look.

"Don't you go passing judgment on me too."

Peaches meowed, jumping onto the bed and curling up in the warm space that Hotch had just left. Morgan stroked it, slightly glum.

Then Hotch's voice called out, "You coming or not?" from the bathroom.

Morgan smiled before he jumped out of the bed, patting Peaches one last time before moving into the bathroom.

Peaches walked out of the room, leaving two men curled around each other in bed.

He purred.

-|-

This story won 2nd place in the 'Best Slash Romance' category in the CM Fanfiction Awards. Thank you to everyone who voted!


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